Class. 
Book. 




FP4T23 



.Gr3'2.3^ 




Sure to be soinelxulv nice. Charlie thinks, or it would not hf worth a seven miles drive in the wet. 




" His expectations are scariely realized. 
SOCIAL PROBLEMS 



SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AND TRAVEL. 






BT AN "AMATEUR CASUAL," AND OTHERS. 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 




NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY KURD AND HOUGHTON, 

459 Broome Street. 

1868. 



-^^X' 



,^l.- 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 






i 



CONTEISTS. 



Frontispiece. — " Social Problems." Drawn by G. Bowers. 

Something about Breakfast 1 

An Evening with my Uncle b^ 

Twenty-four Hours of the Season .... 12 
(With a double-page illustration by Florence Claxton.) 

Engaged ! 14 

Humours of the Paris Exhibition 19 

St. Valentine's Day 29 

(With an illustration by Florence and Adelaide Claxton.) 

Canine Celebrities 36 

The Private Life of a Public Nuisanck . . . 46*^ 

Modern Beau-Brummelism . . . . . . 57 

Balls in Vienna . . . 65 

Recollections op a Bachelor 71 

A Week in a Country House 79 

What 's in the Papers ? 98 

Upstairs and down 102 



1> 



SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AND TRAVEL. 



SOMETHING ABOUT BREAKFAST 



IT has often been asserted that as 
long as human beings congre- 
gate together like wild beasts at 
' feeding tinaes,' this age has no 
right to lay claim to superior civi- 
lization, and that it would be an 
improved manner of life if relays 
of food could be brought to some 
particular place at stated times, to 
which any who chose might resort. 

As it is an acknowledged fact, 
that society and conversation are 
the best promoters of digestion, the 
plan that these cai>tious people 
propose would be both unwhole- 
some and unsocial, but it might be 
advantageously acted upon in the 
matter of breakfast, for that, as 
English people ordain it, is de- 
cidedly a mistake. 

' Breakfast is such a charmingly 
social meal,' we heard a lady once 
say in speaking of a large breakfast 
in a country - house, * every one 
comes down so fresh, everybody is 
in time, and ready for the duties 
and pleasures of the day. I con- 
sider it a delightful moment.' It was 
a sentimental and poetical view, 
but as far as possible removed from 
the truth ; for in our estimation it is 
a peculiarly unhappy moment, and 
one in which many persons are prone 
to regard their fellow-creatures as 
their natural enemies. 

When people are hungry and 
cold it follows as a matter of course 
that they are cross, and as large 
parties in country-houses usually 
occnr in the winter, this is tolerably 
sure to be the case. Shy people, 
too, are always shy in the morning ; 
they cannot take up life where they 
left it the night before, or say ' Good- 
morning ' at all in the same happy 



and friendly spirit in which they 
said ' Good-night.' 

People are not ready for social 
intercourse till they have been up 
at least three hours. It is quite 
curious to see how disagreeable 
really good-humoured people often 
are before breakfast. They are 
often conscious of their moroseness, 
and try to conceal it by utter silence 
or cynical smiles ; but with all their 
endeavours we are aware that it 
would be a service of danger to 
speak to them, and whether it be 
our most valued friend, or simply a 
highly agreeable or intellectual ac- 
quaintance, we equally hope that 
it may never be our fate to meet 
him again at breakfast. Surely it 
would be a great advantage to the 
world if these individuals break- 
fasted alone ! 

Perhaps the mo<it depressing thing 
we can meet with is anything like 
hilarity or even great cheerfulness 
so early in the day. Few things 
are more trying than the jovial, 
hearty manner in which the master 
of the house often enters the room 
where his guests are assembled in 
the morning. If in winter, with 
blue nose and red hands, loud in 
his praise of the weather (which to 
our thinking is simply detestable), 
advising every one to follow his 
example and take a turn before 
breakfast : ' Sharpens the appetite ; 
freshens one up ; does a world of 
good.' Take a turn before breakfast 
that raw January day ! you cannot 
even reply except by drawing closer 
to the fire, and looking with horror 
at the freezing fog through the 
window. You sit down to breakikst 
to endure another trial from your 



Something about Breakfast. 



well-meaning host, he being one of 
those who invariably make a pro- 
gramme of the day for other people, 
totally regardless of the fact that 
what people may like to do at two 
o'clock they dislike at ten, and 
vice Vlv-hi. Bi;t all this goes for 
nothing with yonr cheerful friend. 
He usually calls to his wife, who is 
absorbed in a tea- pot at the farthest 
end of the table, ' Well, my dear, 
and what have you arranged for 
our friends to do to-day ?' There is 
a murmured response to the effect 
that no one wishes to do anything. 
'It is so very cold to-day,' Mrs. 
replies, languidly. 

' Cold ! not at all ; that is so like 
you ladies, who never take any ex- 
ercise, and do notliiug to promote 
circulation ; then you say it is cold ! 
It is a tine, healthy, s-easouable day ; 
no sign of rain or snow. A day 
like this in January must not be 
wasted. Come, what •nill you all 
do ? What would you like ?' 

' To be left alone,' is the unspoken 
reply in the mind of most of his 
guests, but of course the ungracious 
thought is not put into words. The 
pertinacious pleasure-hunter maps 
out the day for them. They can 
only resign themselves to his will, 
hoping that some happy coinci- 
dence, such as morning visitors, 
or a fall of snow, may give them a 
pretext for remaining comfortably 
by the fireside. 

There are always some people 
who are more restless or less self- 
sufficing than others, who really 
prefer anything to their own society 
or remaining quiet; .but these are 
exceptions, and to those who are 
victims to this kind of energetic 
ruling it is poor comfort to know 
that the same wearisome repetition 
awaits thera on the morrow. 

Kind-hearted people often unin- 
tentionally infhct considerable an- 
noyance on their friends by inquir- 
ing anxiously every morning after 
their health. One comfort is that 
the mquirer often forgets to wait 
for a reply ; for as sleepless nights 
and aching heads are in themselves 
Buificiently miserable, few are de- 
sirous of going through a cross- 
examination upon them. 

There has been a considerable 



change of late years in the fashion 
of breakfast. It is a good deal more 
«(/ Ubition as to time, ranging from 
half-past nine to twelve. Tea and 
coffee are seldom now put upon the 
table, but are made out of the room, 
or by servants, on the side-table, 
who hand the cups as they art- 
wanted. In some large houses 
several small tables are set for 
breakfast, so that, as there are only 
thvee, or at most four places, people 
may be said in some sense to break- 
fast alone, or at least with whom 
they please. This is, upon the 
whole, a good arrangement, but we 
doubt if it would not be still more 
desirable for people to breakfast 
alone in their rooms. The objec- 
tion to this would probably be, that 
to carry up t>reakfast to eighteen or 
twenty people as varied and rddwrcfie 
as it is made now, consisting of tish, 
hot and cold meat, and fruit, as 
well as tea, coffee, bread, butter, and 
eggs -to send up, in fact, to each 
person a miniature dinner, would 
exhaust the resources of the largest 
establishment. One way, and per- 
haps the best way of meeting this 
ditticulty would be to imitate the 
example of most foreigners, who 
have a cup of coffee or chocolate 
when they first rise, and only comt; 
down at eleven or twelve o'clock 
for the dejc/our, which with them 
corresponds to our luncheon ; for no 
more eating is considered necessary 
till dinner-time, which is generally 
not later than seven o'clock. They 
have meat and wine as well as tea 
and coffee, and their ilt{/i uner, in 
fact, combines breakfast and lun- 
cheon in one. This is in many 
respects a much wiser division of 
the day, as it leaves tiie whole after- 
noon free for exercise or amusement, 
either at home or abroad. But the 
amount of food that is ptit before us 
at breakfast is totally unnecessary, 
and if the meal were changed to a 
more simple one there would be no 
longer any difficulty about having 
it alone. 

Though we have been discussing 
our breakfast, nothing has been said 
of the food of which it should con- 
sist. People's tastes are so differ- 
ent that it is quite impossible to lay 
down any gastronomic iaw upon a 



Something about Breakfast. 



meal the constituents of which vary 
from bread and water, to salmon 
and gronso, and pate de foie gras. 
We have seen unhappy wretches 
deliberately pour out a tumbler of 
cold water as their only brcalcfast 
beverage. Others, who make equal 
sacrifices at the shrine of health, are 
content to abjure even bread and 
butter, and breakfast entirely on 
some unpalatoable mess, which, by 
dint of ailvcrtisiemcnts, has worked 
its way into lashion. Gentlemen 
who are addicted to field sports, and 
who for tlie most part despise lun- 
cheon, make breakfast a most sub- 
stantial meal. Indeed, modern 
breakfasts seem drifting baek to the 
beef and ale and goodly capons' that 
young ladies found necessary to 
support nature in Queen Elizabeth's 
time. L:idie.s, and idle men of a 
more sedentary turn, are contented 
to depend luainly upon luncheon. 

There are otlier kinds of break- 
fasts, besides the early morning 
meal of which we have been speak- 
ing. It is a constant habit with the 
literary world in London to have 
reniiiutis of scientific and agreeable 
people early in tlie day, and what 
in the evening would be a cortversu- 
zione, in the morning is simply 
called a breakfast. But the greatest 
misnomer of all is the habit, in 
London, of calling a dinner, and a 
ball and a stij^per, if given al franco, 
a ' breakfast.' No one dreams of 
going to these parties till five 
o'clock, and they last freipiently till 
the small hours of the morning. As 
the meeting usually takes place in 
the garden or grounds of some villa 
near London, the guests appear in 
morning dresses, which we suppose 
is the reason of this strangely mis- 
applied term. 

There is another annoyance to 
which those who never breakfast 
alone are exposed. Letters in the 
country always arrive in the morn- 
ing, and we are tolerably sure when 
we go down stall's to find a packet 
of letters on the table awaiting us. 
It is amusing to watch the different 
manner in which people behave 
about their letters. Some dart 
eagerly upon them, are instantly 
absorbed in their contents, from 
time to time doling out small pieces 



of intelligence from them; ottiere 
exannne them carefully, and then 
lay them aside, deferring the plea- 
sure or the pain of their perusal tu 
a ' more convenient season ;' others, 
and these for the most part young 
men, take them up with real dr 
affected indifference, and transfer 
them at once to their pockets. The 
chances are that these consist prin- 
cipally of reminders, more or less 
pressing, from the neigldioiu'hood 
of Bond Street, Eegent Stiect, and 
Piccadilly. Their contents may pos- 
sibly be paraphrased in the parody 
of a well-known ballad : — 

' Yuu remember, you remember. 
The little bill you owe ; 
'Tis but two pound ten and four, sir. 
And I've waited long, you know, 

' On my word, sir, on my word, sir, 
1 Wduldn't trouble now, 
But I've gilt a long account, sir. 
To make up, and don't know how. 

• You do take, sir, you do give, sir. 
Three letters every day ; 
D V Is what j'ou talte, sir, 
I U is what you pay.' 

It is to be feared that these ' re- 
jected addresses ' form a large por- 
tion of many people's correspond- 
ence 1 There is one very odd pecii- 
liarity that many people have about 
their letters, and one for wliich it is 
difficult to account. If a letter or 
note is brought, and the receiver is 
somewhat puzzled to know from 
whence it comes, the seal is closely 
investigated, the direction pondered 
over, the postmark held up to the 
light; every pos.'-ible trouble is 
taken to examine the outside of a 
letter, when, by simply opening it, 
the desired knowledge would be 
attained. Does this show that hu- 
man, nature delights in a mystery ? 
In some houses it is the custom 
■ for the children to be brought down 
to be admired at breakfast. This 
habit, unless the children are quiet 
to stupidity, cannot fail to be a 
nuisance. The only time that we 
can gladly hail the appearance of 
children out of their own legitimate 
sphere, is in the formidable half- 
hour before dinner is announced. 
Then they create a diversion, and 
possibly suggest topics of conver- 
sation. 



Something ahovi Breakfast. 



Breakfast is generally, more or 
less, a solemn process. The only 
aim at sprightliness it was ever our 
fate to witness was so disastrous in 
its results that we could only hope 
the attempt would never be re- 
peated. It was at a large party in 
a country-house, and the conversa- 
tion had accidentally turned upon 
eggs. The young lady of the house, 
who was seated by a ci-devant jeune 
homme, an exquisite of the last gene- 
ration, who had been evidently taken 
with her beauty and gay spirits, de- 
clared that it was impossible to 
break an egg by pressing it ever so 
tightly, provided you held it in such 
a manner that the two ends, and no 
other part, touch the palms of the 
hands. Her neighbour heard her 
with a supercilious smile, and re- 
commended her to try. She re- 
peated that she had seen it done 
constantly, and would convince him 
there and then of the truth of her 
assertion. So saying, she took up 
an egg, and turning towards him, 
said, ' Now, see if I am not right !' 
When, to her dismay, the egg 
smashed at once, and its contents 
spurted over the very particular gen- 
tleman by her side, soiling his fault- 
less shirt and waistcoat, and cling- 
ing pertinaciously to his whiskers 
and stuVbly beard. Utterly dis- 
mayed at such a very unexpected 
disaster, partly from amusement, 
and partly from nervousneBs, Mita 



burst into a violent fit of laugh- 
ing. Her example was followed by 
several others, for in truth nothing 
could present a more ludicrous and 
unhappy appearance than the poor 
man. Besides which, he was fu- 
riously angry, believing the whole 
thing to have been a previously ar- 
ranged practical joke, and to see 
that he was the laughing-stock of 
the company, of course enraged 
him still more. In vain the poor 
girl tried to explain that the acci- 
dent was quite unintentional, and, 
indeed, that her theory still held 
good, as the egg was broken not by 
the pressure but by her ring, which 
she had forgotten to remove. He 
would hear nothing, hurried out of 
the room to repair the mischief 
done to his dress, and would not re- 
turn to the breakfast-table ; in fact, 
we did not see him again, for he left 
the house the same day. 

We have not spoken of the ar- 
rangement of a breakfast- table, or 
the pretty decorations of which it is 
capable. Flowers seem more in 
keeping with breakfast than with 
dinner, for if the china is ever so 
beautiful, or the damask ever so 
fine, a breakfast-table is dull and 
colourless without them. But how- 
ever inviting it may be made, we 
still hold to our theory that for the 
most part it is better to breakfast 
alone. 




An JBkening with my Uncle. 



AN EVENING WITH MY UNCLE. 



HOW I first came to know Uncle 
Gawler, how it happened that 
our acquaintance, at first of the sim- 
plest sort, ripened gradually to a 
friendship warm and durable, need 
not be here discussed. .It is suffi- 
cient for the purposes of this paper 
to state that between my uncle and 
myself such a happy condition of 
affairs prevails. The act of parlia- 
ment which regulates the times and 
seasons during which my uncle may 
transact business with his numerous 
other poor relations in no way af- 
fects me ; indeed it is more often 
' after seven ' than before that I 
make my calls, and I am always 
welcome. The strong spring-bolt 
that secures the flap- door of my 
uncle's shop counter is cheerfully 
withdrawn at my approach, giving 
me free access to the sanctum 
beyond— where the money-till with 
its silver ' well,' as large as a wash- 
ing-bowl, and its gold ' well,' big- 
ger than a quart basin, is always 
ajar ; where on back counters, and 
shelves, and bunks are strewn rings, 
and pins, and brooches, and lockets, 
and bracelets (all solid and good 
gold, as attested by the grim glass 
bottle labelled 'aquafortis,* conve- 
niently perched on its little bracket), 
where deep drawers, open just a little, 
reveal countless tiny and precious 
packets, done up in brown paper, 
and white paper, and stout bits of 
rag, and patched with a blue, or a 
red, or a yellow ticket, to indicate 
the number of pounds sterling that 
have been advanced on them; where 
watches, gold and silver, lie heaped 
together in a living heap, as one 
may say, each one hobbled to a 
pawn ticket, and left to die, but 
not yet dead, but, fiiithful in the 
discharge of its duty, clamorously 
' tick, tick, ticking,' though nobody 
now takes the least interest in its 
time-keeping, nor minds its urgent 
whispering of the flight of time any 
more than the angler minds the 
gasping of the fish he has just 
landed. Were I a sentimental 
writer (which, thank goodness, I am 
not), and this a sentimental article, 
I have no doubt that a very pretty 



paragraph might be written on 
these faithful little monitors con- 
signed to dungeon darkness and the 
stillness of death for just so long a 
time as may suit the convenience of 
the tyrant man. Torn from the 
bosom where they had so long Iain 
nestling; abandoned by the hand 
that gave them life and motion, 
there they lie, true even unto death, 
the uncompromising, though some- 
what astonished ' tick, tick ' of the 
English lever ; the plethoric and 
muffled tones of the old-fashioned 
' hunter' of the mechanic ; the spas- 
modic whimpering of the wretched 
Genoese, reminding one of — of — 
(not being ready with a happy simile 
I turn to Mr. Gawler, who is church- 
warden, and who promptly suggests) 
cases of desertion on doorsteps. 

It must not, however, be inferred 
from the above statement of the 
wealth in my Uncle Gawler's pos- 
session that he is as well-to-do in 
the world as many other of my rela- 
tions in the same degree. He is not, 
for instance, as rich as my Uncle At- 
tenborough, whose meanest place of 
business is a palace compared with 
that in which my poorer uncle carries 
on his trade. Uncle Attenborough 
affects plate glass and green and 
gold ornamentation, and informs you, 
through the medium of off-hand 
little notice-boards in his window, 
what is his price — per peck— for 
pearls and diamonds, and what he 
can give, per ton, for Australian 
bullion. Should the keeper of the 
crown jewels call on Uncle Atten- 
borough, and request the fullest 
possible advance on them, he would 
no doubt be packed off with a satis- 
factory ' ticket.' 

Such matters, however, are alto- 
gether above Uncle Gawler. He 
makes no pretension to dealing in 
diamonds, or foreign bullion, or 
sculpture or paintings by the old 
masters. It is a wonder, considering 
the locality in which his business is 
carried on— near Whitecross Street, 
St. Luke's — that so much valuable 
property is confided to his keeping ; 
and, doubtless, the fact is mainly 
due— firstly, to the great number of 



6 



An Evening with my Unde. 



years he has been established ; and, 
secondly, to the convenient arrange- 
ment of his premises. It is a corner 
house, and the shop, which faces the 
High Street, is an innocent jeweller's 
shop, and nothing more. There are 
neatly-written cards in the window, 
vaiionsly inscribed, 'jewellery re- 
paired,' ' watch glasses fitted,' 
' ladies' ears pierced,' &c. ; so that 
even though one should happen to 
be seen entering Mr. Gawler's shop, 
— nay, even though an inquisitive 
brute should be mean enough to spy 
from outside, and see one hand his 
' Dent ' to Mr. Gawler, and receive 
in exchange for it a neatly-folded bit 
of pasteboard, the evidence of the 
pawning would be anything but 
complete ; watch glasses will come 
to grief, and watch works need re- 
pau', and it is the commonest thing 
in the world for the watchmaker to 
give the owner a memorandum, as 
security for his property. I have 
known fellows in the Strand take 
the ' Angel ' omnibus on purpose to 
avail themselves of the services of 
Ml-. Gawler. 

But it is not on watch and jewel 
and trinket-pa wners that Mr. Gawler 
relies for the support of his busi- 
ness. The street, of which my 
tmcle's shop forms the corner, is 
one of the most densely populated 
streets in London. It is a market 
street, a street of shops, abounding 
in ' courts,' and ' alleys,' and ' yards,' 
with entrances like accidental chinks 
in the wall, and swarming with men, 
and women, and children, as rats 
swarm in a sewer. It is a roaring 
sti't-et for business ; there are twt ut} - 
two butchers' shops in it, seventeen 
bakers' shops, and twenty-seven gin 
shops and beer shops. So it may 
easily be imagined that Uncle 
Gawler does his share of trade. 

He is well prepared for it. Up 
the street by the side of the inno- 
cent- looking jewellers shop— a long- 
ish way up the street — is a mean- 
looking doorway, that might be the 
entrance to a back yard. That it is 
something more than this, however, 
may be at once perceived by the stone 
tlireshold worn through to the 
bricks beneath, and the doorpost 
paint-rubbed and grimy of elbow 
grease. This is the poor pawners' 



entrance. It opens on to a passage, 
extending down the whole length of 
which is a row of latched doors, 
close together and hinge to hinge. 
There are eleven of these doors, and 
they belong to as many ' boxes ' or 
compartments about four feet wide 
and ten deep, boarded on each side, 
and with a portion of counter 
(boarded, of course, from the top 
downwards) in front. There is a 
little bolt on the inside of the cell 
door, so that if a customer desires 
privacy he can secure himself from 
observation until his negotiation 
with the pawnbroker is completed. 
This precaution is— at least as re- 
gards the daytime— quite super- 
fluous ; for when the door is closed, 
the closet is dark as evening, making 
it next to impossible for any one 
to recognise his neiglibour, except 
by the sound of his voice. I have 
said that each closet -is fronted 
by a portion of the long counter 
which extends from one end of the 
pawning compartment to the other 
— I should rather have said that it 
is a ledge raised a foot above the 
level coimter that faces the cus- 
touicr, the said raised ledge being, 
doubtless, intended as a check 
against the evil disposed, who 
might be tempted to advantage 
themselves of the bustle of much 
business, and walk off with their 
own or their neighbours' unran- 
somed goods. 

Against the wall opposite to the 
boxes, and facing the middle one, 
the ' spout ' is built. The ' spout ' 
at a pawnbroker's, as the gentle 
reader will please to understand, is 
a boxed-in space penetrating the 
upper warehouse floors, and con- 
trived for the more ready delivery 
of pledged goods; which consisting, 
as they usually do among poor 
folks, of wearing apparel, and boots, 
and shoes, and bed-linen, may be 
collected from their various places 
of stowage and bundled by the 
dozen through the aperture in 
question from the top of the house 
to the bottom. To accommodate 
Uncle Gawler's extensive business, 
his ' spout ' was of enormous size. 
The opening was as large as a 
kitchen chimney, and to two sides 
of it upright ladders were fixed. 



An Evening with my Uncle. 



Astraddle over the hole on the top 
floor was a windlass with a stout 
rope and a chain and a couple of 
hooks depending from it. This was 
used to wind up tlie sacksfull of 
pledged bundles, and no doubt 
saved a vast amount of labour. 
About the spare spaces (very few) 
of Uncle Gawler's shop walls were 
stuck various placards and business 
notices : one relating to the rates of 
interest allowed by law ; one or two 
relating to recent instances of pro- 
secution, and conviction, of persons 
pawning the property of others 
without their permission, and of 
other persons who had endeavoured 
to foist upon the unsuspecting 
pawnbroker ' Brummagem ' ware, 
reputed to be honest gold or silver. 
There were other placards more or 
less curious, but none more so than 
one which in red and conspicuous 
letters, bore the mysterious an- 
nouncement that ' there could be 
no parting after eleven o'clock.' A 
solution, however, to this mystery, 
and many others, appeared in the 
course of the evening I passed with 
Uncle Gawler. 

How I came to enjoy that rare 
privilege I will explain in a few 
words. Although my calls at the 
shop in St. Luke's were not unfre- 
quent, they had invariably taken 
place on some other day than Satur- 
day. It was a real pleasure to call 
and see Uncle Gawler : he was 
always so filled with contentment 
and gratitude. 'How was he get- 
ting on ■?' ' Oh, nicely, thanky — 
very nicely; a little overdone with 
work, that's all : small cause for 
complaint you think, eh, young 
fellow? Ah! but the amount of 
business to be attended to in this 
place is enormous, sir— en-normous!' 
And then he would cp,st his eyes 
towards the long row of " boxes,' and 
from them to tlie mighty 'spout,' 
with the cable and the chain and 
hooks dangling down, and sigh a 
pleasant sigh, and jingle the keys in 
his pocket. 

He said this, or something very 
like, so often, that one could not 
help looking about him for symp- 
toms of the enormous business Uncle 
Gawler made so much of. Looking 
about for these symptoms he failed 



to discover ijjem. Although there 
was kept up a pretty constant slam- 
ming of the box-doors, and a briskish 
clamour of ' serve ine, please,' ' it's 
my turn,' and ' ain't that there 
come down yet ?' the eleven boxes 
were never a quarter filled, and 
never at any time had I dropped in 
at such a time of pressure that IMr. 
Gawler was uuiible to tuck his 
hands under his coat-tails and gos- 
sip for half an hour, while his two 
young men plodded along, the one 
examining and valuing articles 
brought to pawn, and the other 
making out the deposit-tickets and 
handing over the money, but with 
very little show of excitement. This 
circumstance, coupled with another, 
viz., that Uncle Gawler was inva- 
riably as unruflied as regards his 
habiliments as though he had just 
dressed for an evening party, drove 
me to the conclusion that either the 
worthy old gentleman possessed a 
marvellous aptitude for getting 
through an 'enormous amount' of 
business with perfect ease, or else 
that he was slightly given to exag- 
geratiim. At last came theeventM 
evening when my unworthy suspi- 
cions were vanquished, and my be- 
lief in Uncle Gawler established 
more firmly than ever. 

It was a Saturday evening and 
the time of year was July. I had 
not met Uncle Gawler for several 
days, and it happening that a friend 
had kindly given me an order for 
the admission for two on the Adel- 
phi Theatre, I thought it would be 
a good opportunity for a manifesta- 
tion of my regard for him. It was 
rather late, ' but,' thought I, ' he is 
sure to be ready dressed, and he 
will only have to pop on his hat 
and we may be off at once.' Enter- 
ing Uncle Gawler's shop I was im- 
mediately struck with astonishment, 
not to say awe. The two young 
men were there — Uncle Gawler was 
there, but how changed ! No longer 
was he an elderly gentleman dressed 
for an evening party, but a person 
whose avocation it was to put down 
mob risings, to quell riots, to stop 
prize-fights, and who, calmly con- 
fident, expected each moment to be 
called on. It was his custom to 
wear a black satin stock and a dia- 



•8 



An Evening with my Uncle. 



mond pin ; tbepe ware cast aside, 
and, only for the ncck-band of his 
shirt, his throat iras bare. ETer 
before I had seen him in a coat of 
the glossiest black ; now he wore 
no coat at all, but a waistcoat 
with tight black holland sleeves, 
Hke a porter at a paper-warehouse. 
Usually he was particular as to the 
arrangement of his hair, so that the 
side-pieces were cunningly coaxed 
upwards to conceal the nakedness 
of his crown ; this, however, was 
no time for au indulgence of such 
weaknesses, and his stubbly, iron- 
grey locks apptand in the same 
state of delitihtlul confusion they 
were originally thrown into by the 
bath-towel. 

Whatever was Mr. Gawler's ob- 
ject, it was evident at a glance that 
both his young men were prepared 
to second him while breath remained 
in their lK)dies. Like their master, 
they had thrown aside their neck- 
erchief, but, unlike hira, they were 
without black hollai d sleeves to 
their waistcoats, and wore their 
shirt-sleeves rolled back above their 
elbows. And all for what? Never 
before had I found Uncle Gawler's 
shop so peaceful. With the excep- 
tion of one, the eleven boxes were 
qnite empty, and the exception was 
provided in a shape no more formi- 
dable than that of a yonng laun- 
dress, who was redeeming a brace 
of flat irons, and mildly remonstrat- 
ing with Mr. Gawler's assistant con- 
cerning their condition, while the 
yonng man, with equal politeness, 
was endeavouring to exonerate the 
firm from the charge of being 
' beastly damp' (that being the basis 
of the young woman's argument), 
but was compelled ultimately to 
fall back on the saving clause printed 
on every pawn-ticket, 'that Mr. 
Gawler was not answerable for moth 
or rust.' 

'How do?' said Uncle Gawler. 
' Pretty time to call, of all times in 
the week, upon my word!' Saying 
this, he consulted his watch, and, 
apparently alarmed to find it so late, 
immediately rushed to the 'spout' 
and bawled up it, 'Now, you lads! 
make haste alx)ut your tea; there 
isn't a minute to spare !' 

' Why, what maj- be the matter ?' 



I asked. ' Anything unnsnal about 
to happen?' 

' Oh no, nothing nnusual — the 
regular thing of Saturday nights,' 
replied Uncle Gawler, pushing his 
muscular arms further through his 
waistcoat-sleeves, as though not at 
all afraid of the ' regular thing,' but, 
on the contrary, rather anxious for 
its approach. ' You won't stay, of 
course,' continued he; 'they'll be 
here like a swarm of l>ees presently, 
you know, and I shan't have a mi- 
nute to myself for the next live 
hours.' 

At this moment several of the 
* box' doors were heard to open and 
fall to again with a slam, at which 
signal Mr. Gawler started and held 
out his hand to say good-bye. It was 
evident that those who would pre- 
sently arrive like a swarm of bees 
were cxistomers. It was for their 
reception that my uncle and his 
assistants had prepared themselves, 
and taken off their neckcloths and 
rolled back their sleeves. My reso- 
lution was at once taken. 

'Shall I be much in your way if 
I stay for an hour ?' I asked. 

'My dear fellow!' began Uncle 
Gawler, while his two young men 
looked round with astonishment. 

' I could sit in the parlour and 
look through the window,' I sug- 
gested. ' I won't disturb you : I'll 
sit in there as quiet as a mouse.' 

' Well, go in if you like,' said 
Uncle Gawler, after a moment's hesi- 
tation ; ' you'll soon be glad to get 
out again, I'll warrant.' 

So I went into the little parlour 
and took a chair at the window in 
the wall that commanded a lair view 
of the shop from one end to the 
other. Especially there was a fair 
view of the boxes, and, to my sur- 
prise, although but live minutes had 
elapsed since the slamming of the 
first of the eleven doors had l>egun, 
at least forty customers had already 
assembled. Although, owing to the 
deep gloom in which the interior of 
each box was shrouded, it was diffi- 
cult to make out the figures of the 
customers, it was easy enough to 
count their numlier, for one and all 
had thrust out a hand containing a 
small pack of tickets of redemption. 
It was an odd sight to see this long 



An Evening tctth my Uncle. 



9 



row of grimy fists and tattered gown 
and jacket and coat-cuflfs all poking 
towards the shopman and beckoning 
him coaxingly. However, there was 
no favouritism. It was quite use- 
less for the owners of the gown- 
cuffs to address the young man in 
familiar, not to say affectionate, lan- 
guage, calling him 'David,' and even 
'Davy' ('Davy, dear/ one woman 
called him), or for the jacket-cntfs to 
growl and adjure David to ' move 
hisself.' David had a system, and 
he well knew that the least depar- 
ture from it would be fatal to the 
proper conduct of the business of 
the evening. Beginning at box 
number one he began the collection 
of the little squares ot pasteboard 
with both his hands, and ' hand- 
over-hand,' as one may say, with 
a dexterity only to be acquired 
by constant practice, crying out 
' tickets! tickets! tickets!' the while. 
By the time he had perambulated 
the length of the shop and called at 
all the boxes he had gathered as 
many tickets as his fists would hold, 
and at once turned to a back counter 
where stood John (the other shop- 
man). John and David then en- 
gaged in 'sorting' the tickets, an 
operation rendered necessary for 
several reasons. Some of the tickets 
referred to tools and flat irons and 
articles of furniture too cumbrous 
and imwieldy to ascend the ' spout,' 
and which were accommodated with 
lodgings in the cellars. Other of 
the pawn-tickets related to wedding- 
rings and Sunday brooches and 
scarf-pins, which were deposited in 
the room whose walls were mailed 
with sheet-iron in the rear of the 
shop. Another reason why the 
tickets should be sorted was this. 
A goodly proportion of Uncle Gaw- 
ler's customers were unacquainted 
with the art of reading, and not un- 
frequently tendered tickets pertain- 
ing to goods in the custody of another 
' uncle' keeping a shop in the neigh- 
bourhood, an error if not at once 
detected likely to lead to a great 
waste of time and temper. 

The tickets sorted, a heavy and 
melancholy youth, bearing a dark 
lantern, opportunely emei'ged from 
the bowels of the pi-emises through 
a trap-door in the shop floor, and 



took into custody the tickets relating 
to shovels and picks, and saws and 
planes; while John bustled off with 
another lantern and the jewellery 
tickets, and David remained to 
attend to the ' spout ' department. 
Lapping out at the mouth of the 
spout, and waving gently to and fro, 
like the busy tongue of the ant- 
eater, was a long leather bng ; into 
this David thrust his handful of 
cards, and at the same instant 
briskly touched a bell-hiindle fixed 
to the side of the 'spout,' and, with 
a sudden jerk, the longue vanished 
upwards into the maw ; to return, 
however, long and lean as ever, and 
dangling and wagging as though it 
had just caught the flavour of the 
food it was remarkably fond of, and 
much desired some more. 

It must not be supposed that 
Uncle Gawler himself was mean- 
while idle. Redemption was the 
order of the evening ; still, there 
were numerous cases in which it 
was necessary rather by way of 
barter than by ready-money pay- 
ments. As, for instance, Mrs. 
Brown, being a laundress, has found 
it necessary to pawn the table-linen 
belonging to one of her customers, 
and, not having money at her com- 
mand to redeem the same, she feels 
it convenient to 'put away' the 
shirts of another customer, and thus 
make matters square. On Monday 
she will redeem the shirts of cus- 
tomer number two, by pawning the 
sheets of customer number three. 
Or, again, as for instance, the 
Browns are asked by the Greens to 
come and have a bit of dinner to- 
morrow, and have accepted the in- 
vitation ; but Brown has made a 
bad week ; has not earned enough, 
indeed, to ' get out ' his Sunday 
coat and the children's frocks. 
Brown is a man who doesn't like 
' to look little.' He won't want his 
working clothes till Monday; and, 
as they will be from home, they 
won't miss the hearthrug. Again, 
there are exceptions to the rule 
altogether. Saturday night is a 
ticklish time for poor mother. No 
work this week— last week— the 
week before. Not a single penny. 
No dinner to-morrow— no dinner 
on a Sunday! Mother does not 



10 



An Evening ivith my Uncle. 



care. Father does not care — much ; 
but the children! It is all very 
well to rub along all the week with 
bread and treacle for the mid- day 
meal, or, at a pinch, with nothing 
between breakfast and an 'early 
tea ;' but it is different on Sundays. 
Everyhody has dinner on Sunday, 
even in a Whitecro^s Street alley ; 
the atmosphere is hazy with tbe 
steam of ' bakings ;' and by two 
o'clock you won't find a little pina- 
fore that is not dinner-stained. ' It's 
of no use,' says poor mother, ' a bit 
of hot dinner must be got somehow.'' 
So she waits till dusk, and then, 
slip-shod in old slippers, carries her 
sound shoes to Mr. Gawler's and 
places them on the counter. 

This sort of work keeps Uncle 
Gawler tolerably busy, while his 
joung men are busy restoring the 
pledged goods ; but he is not nearly 
so busy as he will be presently. By 
this time the slamming of the 
box- doors has increased, and a 
quick succession of dull bumps and 
thumps announces the descent down 
the ' spout ' of parcels of all sorts 
and sizes from the various ware- 
houses above. John has returned 
with the lantern in one hand and a 
bunch of little packets in the other ; 
and three times the gloomy boy has 
laboured up the cellar steps, laden 
with ironware and tools, which he 
has deposited, with a malicious 
clatter, upon the shop floor, and 
once more retreated. The eleven 
boxes are gradually filling; and 
from out their gloomy depths, where 
the clatter and chatter is each 
moment increasing, there crops a 
thick cluster of ticket- grasping fists, 
wriggling to be delivered. But it is 
not time yet to gather in this second 
crop : the result of the first, which 
chokes up the spout, has yet to be 
cleared off. 

This part of the performance is 
conducted by the indefatigable 
David. Hauling and tugging at 
the rag- wrapped bundles that bulge 
out at the mouth of the spout, he 
rapidly ranges them, ticket up- 
ward (it should have been stated 
that a duplicate of the ticket held 
by the pawner is pinned on to the 
property pawned, and that, when 
the searchers have found the bundle 



to which the ticket put into the bag 
refers, he pins it by the side of the 
ticket already distinguishing it), 
and then begins to call out the 
name the duplicate bears. 

* Jones !' 

'One; here you are,' somebody 
calls. 

' Three and sevenpence-half- 
penny, Jones ;' and in a twinkling 
the money passes one way, and the 
parcel the other, and Jones is dis- 
missed. 

'Kobinson! how many, Mrs. 
Kobinson?' 

' Five.' 

Mrs. Robinson must wait : when 
the other four bundles happen to 
turn up, she will get her ' five,' not 
before; so, putting her first dis- 
covered bundle aside, David con- 
tinues his investigation. 

' Mackney ! How many, Mack- 
ney? Mack-ney! — how many more 
times am I to holloa ?' 

' Is it McKenny ye mane ?' shouts 
a shrill voice. 

'Well, p'raps it is: what's the 
article ?' inquires the cautions David. 

' Siveral,' pipes Mrs. McKenny ; 
' there's the childers' perrikits, and 
me ole man's weskit, and a shawl, 
and- ' 

' Two and a halfpenny,' exclaims 
David, cutting the lady cruelly 
short. 

' But I want to part, Davy dear,' 
said the Irishwoman. 

' Why didn't you say so at first?' 
snapped David, and at the same 
time tossing the monstrously large 
two-shilling bundle towards Uncle 
Gawler. 

Uncle Gawler at once seized it, 
unpinned it, and disclosed petti- 
coats, and shawl, and waistcoat, be- 
sides several other articles. 

' I want tbe weskit and shawl, 
and leave the rist for fifteen pince,' 
said Mrs. McKenny. 

' Ninepence is what you can leave 
*em for,' replied Uncle Gawler, with 
a determination that Mrs. McKenny 
had not the courage to combat; 
' one and four, please.' And having 
paid this sum, she walked off with 
the shawl and waistcoat. This at 
at once explained the meaning of 
the mysterious placard, ' No parting 
after eleven o'clock.' It was evident 



1 



An Evening toitk my Vncle. 



11 



enough that the process of ' parting ' 
was not a little tiresome, and calcu- 
lated to hamper and impede busi- 
ness if allowed at the busiest time. 

The first delivery of pledges 
over, the second crop of tickets was 
gathered ; and so much heavier was 
it tlian the first, that by the time he 
had reached the sixth box, David's 
hands were quite full. Big as was 
the leather bag suspended in the 
' 8pout,' it was chokef ul when David 
thrust in his gathering; and before 
five minutes had elapsed, the noise 
of falling bundles within the spout 
was fast and furious. Tear and haul 
at them as David might— even with 
the assistance, slow but determined, 
of the melancholy cellar-boy — the 
lads above, now well warmed to 
their work, were not to be outdone, 
but kept up the shower, pelt, 
bump, thump, until the throat as 
well as the mouth of the spout was 
fairly choked. Still, in flocked the 
customers, until there was no more 
door-slamming, for the boxes were 
crammed and brimming over into 
the passage ; and the number of 
ticket-grasping fists that threatened 
over the counter was enough to 
appal any but such tried veterans 
as Uncle Gawler and his crew. Then 
the uproar ! Small- voiced women, 
of the better sort, begging and en- 
treating of David to lake their 
tickets, at the same time pouring 
into his adder ears the various 
domestic businesses on which their 
need for haste were based. Shrill- 
voiced women of the worser sort, 
dirty-faced, baby-bearing, gin-hie- 



cuppy slatterns, brawling, pushing, 
driving their elbows into other 
people's eyes, and trampling on 
their feet. Drunken men who had 
never given any ticket at all, and 
who yet obstinately persisted in 
blocking up the front and most 
desirable places, taking great oaths, 
banging their great fists against the 
counter, and challenging David into 
the road to fight. Great indeed 
must have been the joy of David and 
John when eleven, o'clock struck, 
and Uncle Gawler shouted * no more 
parting!' and, whipping off his 
sleeved waistcoat, came to their 
assistance. He was a host in him- 
self. By a few pertinent remarks 
as to what would be the probable 
result of their outrageous behaviour 
when they brought their things back 
to pledge on Monday morning, he 
silenced the vixens ; and by em- 
phatically declaring that he would 
not deliver another parcel to his 
customers until they turned out the 
noisy drunken men, he got rid of 
them in a twinkling. He aspailed 
the glutted ' spout,' and delivered 
bundles in batches of six and eight, 
and counted up the interest, and 
took money, and gave change with 
a celerity that took away one's 
breath to behold. In half an hour 
the box doors began again to slam — a 
sure sign that the rush was thin- 
ning : in another twenty minutes 
he had so slackened the pressure as 
to find time to come in to me, mop- 
ping the perspiration off his scarlet 
visage with his silk handkerchief, 
and inquire what I thought of it all. 
James Greenwood. 




1S» 



Twenty-four Hours of the Season. 



TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF THE SEASON. 



By My Lady's Watch. 

OF society's life the first dawning 
Begins with the letters— and yawning ! 
Your orders you give, while you're sipping 
Your tea ; then your wrapper on-slipping, 

You submit to the toils of the morning— 
Your ladi's-maid does your adorning; 
While you skim, during ornamentation. 
The latest three-volume ' sensation.' 

Next, when you the break fast-room turn-in. 
The children are brought— with the urn— in ; 
And papa, on the ' Times ' intent, drily 
Doesn't see that they look at you shily. 

Babes— and breakfast — disposed of, your iVwels 
From Hancock's, your dresses from Sewcils, 
Your bonnet, your boots, and your chignon 
Claim full sixty minutes' dominion. 

Then off, like a shot from a cannon! — 
To horse, and away, the Row's tan on ! 
Just pausing at times in your canter 
Your friends at the railings to banter. 

In your brougham soon shopping you're hieing — 
Inspecting— electing — and buying : 
Then home, with a cargo of treasures. 
For the next in the list of your pleasures. 

You then, for a couple of hours, show 
Your tasteful toilette at a flow'r show. 
Displaying, 'mid roses and orchids, 
Ldght muslins and pale three- and-four kids. 

Then, the Royal Academy in, it's 
The thing to appear for tive minutes. 
The merits of Millais and Leighton 
It enables you glibly to prate on. 

But somehow you must be contriving 
By six in the Park to be driving. 
Your daughter (the eldest, you know,) sits 
Beside you— in front of you Flo sits. 

Soon homeward you re wearily pressing 
With prospects of dinner and dressing. 
Faint — aching in every bone— you 
Your maid have to eau-de-Cologne you. 

Till you meet — the first time since you brake fast- 
The being four parsons did make fast 
Your slave, at St. George's, — poor sinner I — 
And your husband and you have your dinner. 



10. 
She awake tb. 



10-30. 
Dresseth, 



11. 

Breaketb her 
tost. 



Noon — 1 v.m. 
lirceivelh hei 
tradL'bfolk. 



1—2-30. 
Taketli horse 
exercise. 



3. 

Goeth a- 
shopping. 



g 5^ 
Vlsitelh the 
Boianical. 



J.— 5- 10. 
Glance ih at 
the Academy, 



Taketh car- 
riage exer- 
cise. 



6—6-30. 
Goeth to her 
tiring-room. 



7—9. 
Ilath her 
dinner. 




;z)/^7/^^;^ 



Drawn bv Florence C'laxtc 




Drawn by Florence C'laKtin.] 



TWENTY-POUK HOUKS OP THE SEASON 

IIY MY lady's \VAr< II. 



I Sep tlie Vfrses. 



Twenty-four Hour$ of the Season. 



13 



9 9-5. 
Visitotli her 
bal>'. 



9- .- 9-30. 
(iocih to the 
Opera. 



9-:jo— 10. 

Kiijoyeth 



Kiidueth her 
ball-dreas. 



i i l-.M.~12-S0. 
Showelh her 
loyalty. 



1. 

Payeth 
homage to 
Royalty. 

2—2-30. 
Haiitelli to I 
Hall. 



3; 

Disportetb 
herselt 



4—10. 
Retiretb to 
.est. 



Fish, soup, entrees, meats, sweets, and cheese are 
Brought on— and discussed by degrees are; 
Which leaves you five minutes, it may be. 
To take just a peep at the baby : — 

When your maid comes, observing, ' My leddy, 
Master says, plea«e, the kcrridge is ready ;* 
And you're off, Co vent Garden- wards dashing- 
Lamps flashing, wheels splashing and crashing. 

And now you display your ecstatic 
Devotion for things operatic : — 
But the music, you talk so much stuff of. 
You find half an hour quite enough of. 

Yet a whole one find scarcely suffices 
For the various arts and devices. 
Which deck you in satin or moire. 
Lace, jewels, and plumes for the soiree, 

To which you are speedily rushing — 
To find there much squeezing and crushing. 
The crowd is so great, to get in it's 
A matter of quite ninety minutes ! 

But then, though the struggle dismays you. 
The end of it more than repays you! 
A smile upon lips that are royal 
Itewards your activity loyal. 

You return to your brougham enchanted. 
Yet glad of the respite that's granted 
For a rest on the carriage's cushion. 
To the Countess's Ball while you push on. 

But to shake off, soon after arriving, 
Your weariness you are contriving, 
Coote and Tinney your feet quickly winning 
To a waltz-measure, merrily spinning. 

When at last you get home it just four is ! 
Every bone of you aching and sore is — 
You feel that existence a bore is — 
So is going to bed up three stories ; — 
While the husband you always ignore is 
Eeturned from supporting the Tories 
(He M.P. for land-owners galore is). 
And, forgetting the House's uproar, is 
Asleep —sound as nail in a door is : — 
So your greeting just only a snore is ; 
And you sleep until ten it once more isi 



>mSql^J^ 



14 



Engaged i 



ENGAGED 




rNTEKltUPTEB I 



E 



NGAGED! Oh, indeed! And 
pray what then, sir ?' 

'What then, sir? Why, then 
there is no more insufferable con- 
dition for other people than to have 
to stand by and be spectators of their 
happiness !' 

There is something, after all, in 
what my friend sa.ys, tliough it can 
scarcely be supposed he is abso- 
lutely serious, considering the ad- 
vantageous match his daughter. 
Miss Lucy, has really made of it. 
Thit fact being apsiuvd, however, 
he sticks to his point about the 
discomfort he experiences in being 



a compulsory witness to ' their ex- 
travagant affection.' ' My good 
friend, jou forget. So many things 
have occupied your attention since 
the day when you were first ad- 
mitted to the family circle as the 
"engaged" of dear Amelia— you 
seem almost to forget that "dear 
Amelia" and your excellent wife, 
" a joyful mother of children," are 
one and the same person — that you 
forget both the joy that was yours, 
and the " insufferable condition " 
that joy occasioned to the members 
of your innaraorata's family, who 
received you so kindly. Pray let us 



Engaged / 



la 



I'far no more about " extra vngant 
affci-tion." I am as old as you are, 
ami remember well — for was I not, 
at the very time, in a green and 
yellow melancholy, sighing for the 
afl'uctions of your dear Amelia's 
sister Mary, who jilted me in favour 
of Jack Hornby, the mustachioed 
and beanlcil man of war? I re- 
member how eminently ridiculous 
you were wont to appear to ns, who 
saw not with your eyes, tipon almost 
(ivery occasion wlien you and dear 
Amelia figured in public. I will 
not harrow your feeliugs by de- 
scribing what iiulications of "extra- 
vagant aff> ction" you gave when I 
came unawares, and assuredly with- 
out intending it, upon a certain 
arbour in the garden, where yon 
and yours had sole possession, one 
Sunday evening in the summer, 
as I returned from a solitary, un- 
lovely walk. Shall I remind you of 
the many shifts, more or less flimsy 
and transparent, with which, many 
a time and oft, you tried to make 
your occupjttion appear other than it 
had been before you were inter- 
rupted by the im welcome entrance 
of a third person into the room? 
Cannot your memory carry you 
back so far as to tlie time when you 
seriously proposed to challenge my 
cousin Tom, because he, all ignorant 
of your engagement, dared to take 
your dear Amelia from under your 
very eyes, and to waltz with her as 
he might have done with any young 
lady whatever? lean remind you, 
if need be, of the time when you 
poured out your soul in grief to me, 
because you were not oftener left 
alone with your carisnima, and be- 
cause her wortliy father, a thousand 
times more aminble than you are, 
was inconsiderate (nougli occa- 
' sionally to require the uf e of his 
own study, which, for reasons best 
known to you and Amelia, was your 
favourite billing and cooing place.' 

Long ago, Charles Lamb raised 
his voice against the pretensions of 
the newly married, and held them 
up to scorn in various ways, in 
return for indignities which he had 
suffered at their hands ; but the 
claims and self-assertions of the 
would-be married have gone on 
unchecked since long before Lamb's 



time until now. With the single 
exception of the bard who Bon 
Gaultier hight, and who sang in 
moving verse the miseries of the 
lover's friend and confidant, no one 
has ventured to handle the delicate 
subject of the conduct of engaged 
people, either towards each other 
or towards other people. It is a 
delicate subject, to be sure, and a 
man might be excused for refraining 
to bring in the mirth-makers, who 
haply might select himself for the 
immediate subject of their laughter. 
There are so few who can afford to 
raise a laugh on this subject, so few 
who have not, once at least in their 
lives, to pass through the love- 
making stage, and so to ajipear, as 
they say, ridiculous in the eyes of 
other people. It is a privilege 
which only old bachelors like my- 
se|f — I never recovered the blow 
my young affections received when 
the beauteous Mary, sister of ' dear 
Amelia,' threw me overhoard for the 
mustachioed and beaidcd man of 
war aforesaid — enjoy. We have a 
fee simple in the follies and extra- 
vagancies both of those who are 
married, and of those who are about 
to take upon them the holy estate 
of matrimony ; we can witti im- 
punity let 'our jest among our 
friends be free,' and in the matter of 
courtship— as they used to call it in 
my young days— we have a right to 
comment upon it as we like, because 
of the completeness with which we 
are excluded from the joys of it. 1 
hold that my friend, who grnmbles 
at the ' in-^nfferable condition' in 
which he is placed, is quite out of 
court. He docs but see the reflection 
of his former sf;lf ; it is an instance 
of the thing that hath been being 
the same that shall be ; and, so far 
as he is concerned by it, there is 
no new thing under the sun. With 
me it is different. Though once in 
my life, as I have already hinted, I 
'sat. like patience on a monument,' 
smiling at the grief which the mus- 
tachioed and bearded man of war 
caused me in the matter of Mary, 
6i.>ter to 'dear Amcba,' I sighed to 
myself only, witho\it declaring my 
passion, and had not, therefore, to. 
go through any public exhibitions 
of ' extjravagant affection,' such as. 



16 



Engaged t 



doubtless, T ptiould have done had 
I been admitted to pratique, and 
had the Fates been kinder to me 
than they wore. Thus, yon see, 
gentle readers, I am at liberty to 
make any remarks I please upon 
the situation. No one can meet me 
with a tu, quoquc, or declare me 
estopped from using as freely as I 
like the gleanings of my expe- 
rience. Let ray friend therefore, 
for decency's sake, stand aside, and 
let me take his place. I am vain 
enough to think I shall treat the 
matter with a hand more tender 
and more sympathetic than his, 
while I si 1 all not the less expose 
what he would in his unamiability 
tear to tatters. 

There is, then, to be noticed in 
the carriage and deportment of 
engaged persons an amount of 
awkwardness and restraint in the 
presence of other people, which not 
only stamp them for what they are, 
but tend to make the whole party 
amongst whom they find themselves 
perfectly uncomfortable. Strangers 
— that is to say, any people but the 
two who are interested in main- 
taining the monopoly of mutual 
'extravagant affection'— feel almost 
guilty at being the occasion of so 
much discomfort. They do not 
want to obtrude themselves on the 
attention of the loving pair; and 
assuredly, if their own personal 
comfort were alone concerned, they 
would get far out of sight of the 
enamoured; but circumstances will 
not admit of it; there must be cer- 
tain rooms in common at certain 
times— under no circumstances, for 
instance, do lovers, love they never 
so lovingly, quite dispense with the 
service of the dining-room. Common 
civility, moreover, requires that 
occasionally they should be in the 
drawing-room, or other place where 
the other members of the family are 
assembled ; and it is on each and all 
of these occasions that the charac- 
teristics above mentioned are notice- 
able. There is in the manner and 
on the face of Amandus an ex- 
pression half of listlessness, half of 
anxiety to be agreeable in spite of 
himself, which strikes a disin- 
terested observer rather curiously. 
He begins to think that Amandus is 



unwell, that he is a genius pondering 
abstruse questions 'even in the 
presence;' or may be the thought 
crosses his brain, as he sees the 
conlinuousness of Amandus's ab- 
sence of mind, that perchance he 
may have committed some crime 
which makes him ill at ease. Only 
one who is cognizant of the true 
state of the case can rightly inter- 
pret the meaning of that shifting 
glance of the eyes, that perpetual 
wandering to and fro the beloved 
object, who sits uncomfortably upon 
some neighbouring chair or sofa, 
and tries to play the hypocrite, 
though with as poor a result as 
Amandus. As plainly as the ex- 
pression on an intelligent being's 
countenance can convey a meaning, 
so plainly is it apparent to the 
disinterested unappropriated that 
Amandus is chafing on the bit 
which good manners have forced into 
his mouth, and that he is wishing 
with all his heart he had wings like 
a bird, that he might fly into the 
study or the break fast- room, where 
he would be with Amanda. What 
pleasure, what sati-factiou there can 
be in thus secluding himself with 
Amanda I do not pretend to say. 
Would it not seem more glorious to 
stay in the midst of tlie family 
circle, and triumph openly and 
continuously in the conquest you 
have won? Or are there sweet 
mysteries, solemn rites of courtship, 
which none but the initiated may 
know, and which must be performed 
in so private a manner, that the 
sudden entry of a Philistine into the 
room is enough to scare the votaries 
of Cupid from their vow-making, 
and to cause a trepidation that is 
observable long after the invader 
has entered ? I presume it must be 
so, eli-e there could not he so great, 
so manifest a desire on the part of 
Amandus and Amanda, and on the 
part of Amanda's father before 
them, as I have already testified, to 
get away to some covert from the 
common gaze. 

' Not that room ! They are in 
there !' 

' Confound them ! Suppose they 
are ? My " Encyclopaedia Britan- 
nica " is in there too ; and surely I 
may go and fetch it I' 



Engaged I 



17 



* My dear sir, you are too violent, 
and too inconsicierato as well. At 
all events, muke a noise with the 
door-bamile, so as to give some 
warning of your coming.' 

My friend feels the awkwardness 
of having his own study as effectually 
sealed against liim as if the Customs 
officers had found out that he had 
an illicit distillery in it: herestnts 
what he calls an encroachment on 
his liberty ; but the noise he has 
made in stumbling over the door- 
mat, and in fumbling with the door- 
handle, has put ' the pair ' suffi- 
ciently on the qui vive to allow of 
their quitting the celebration of 
those riles luiknown to all but the 
initiated, and my friend enters his 
study to find his large easy chair 
vacant, but looking as if it bad not 
long been so, drawn up in a com- 
fortable position on one side of the 
fireplace, while Amandus, who might 
be suspected of having sat therein, 
is busy seeing ' why the lamp burns 
so dimly,' and Amanda, at the 
other end of tlie room, is so osten- 
tatiously engaged in looking over 
some music, that one is bound 
to suppose witli Longfellow that 
'things are not what tliey seem.' 
It does not re(iuire one thoroughly 
acquainted with the rites of Dan 
Cupid to conjecture that Amandus 
and Amanda bad been differently 
occupied ere that fumbhng wjth the 
door-handle warned them of the 
fact that a Philistine was ap- 
proaching. 

' Two are company, three none,' 
says Marian, when it is proposed 
that she shall go with Amandus 
and Amanda to the croquet party 
at Mrs. Thingumby's. 'You are 
quite right, my dear ;' only there is 
the slightest possible tinge of dis- 
satisfaction in your tone that you 
are of the three, and not of the 
two, which leads one to doubt 
whether your remark is prompted 
so much by a desire to let the 
company consist of the only har- 
monious elements, as by a wish to 
point uncomfortably towards the 
composition of the company in order 
to gratify yourself by enjoying their 
discomfort. If the tone be rightly 
interpreted, I will pass by your 
remark as being merely cynical ; if 



not, I humbly beg your pardon, 
and cordially endorse the truism 
you have uttered. Engaged folk 
do, as a matter of fact, dislike the 
presence of a third person, almost 
as much, perhaps more, than that 
of a large party. ' A great company 
is a great solitude,' and in it tlio 
' engaged ' can be, comparatively 
speaking, free, almost unnoticed ; 
whereas, in narrower limits they 
botli cause and are required to 
give a greater attention. I am far 
from being certain that the con- 
dition of the third person who is 
tacked on to the ' lia!)py pair ' is 
not much more 'insnlhraUle' than 
theirs. If they so far consider him 
or her as not to talk al)out them- 
selvps, it will bo in so forced and 
artificial a manner as to make their 
conversation ' less tolerable than 
their silence, or their mutual self- 
apprcpriation. With what unblush- 
ing selfishness do an engaged couple 
walk off together, with a noli nou 
tangere expression on their faces, as 
though they had a monojxily of the 
earth on which they walk, anil 
would resent any intrusion as the 
infringement of a patent right. 
Whilst they choof^e to walk they 
are as scarecrows to the timid and 
the good natured, who avoid them 
as tabooed objects, and ' steal away 
so guilty like,' if perchance they 
stumble upon them in the course of 
their pcrigrinations. My friend, 
the father of Amanda, speaks very 
feelingly on this subject, fie says 
his favourite pait of the garden is 
no longer one of his pli.asant places ; 
the ivy-grown summer-house, where 
he was wont to read and smoke a 
lazy pipe, is no longer available for 
him since he was foolishly led to 
sanction the mad engagement which 
brings his Amanda and her Amandu.s 
so much in his way. 

He complains, too — and herein, 
as a calm, dispassionate observer, I 
am compelled to join with him— of 
the demonstrativeness of the 'en- 
gaged.' 'Positively, sir, I have 
seen them sitting knee to knee 
almost, with their hands clasped, 
their tongues as silent as the grave, 
their eyes reflecting all sorts of 
nonsense from one to the other, and 
looking iike the most perfect foola 



18 



Engaged I 



that can be met with out of Bed- 
lam.' 

Gently, my friend. This fault, 
this unshamefaced glorying, if you 
will, is very reprehensible. If it 
does notbing else it asserts to all 
present, moro plainly than is agree- 
able, tbat they are not happy as the 
engaged are ; but there is no need 
for you to break out into a fuiy on 
the subject. I will mention the 
circumstance in a dou't-do-it^agaiu 
sort of way tbrough the various 
circles of London Society, aud I 
doubt not you will cease to be 
troubled by demonstrations of 'ex- 
travagant affection.' 

Did the captain take Amanda 
down to dinner ? Well, it was very 
gauche in the hostess not to have 
arranged differently ; but there is 
no reason why you, Amandus, should 
sit savagely all diimer-time, saying 
nothing whatever to the amiable 
lady by your side, who is ignorant 
of your misfortune, and is trying to 
enlist your sympathies in the last 
report of the Society for procuring 
a change in the colour of the Ethio- 
pian's skin. Do not venture to 
press Amanda's foot, though you 
may think it to be within reach, 
under the table. You can assure 
her of yoiu" sentiments towards her 
as well as of those you entertain 
towards the captain afterwards. 
Meantime, though you may think 
to touch Amanda's foot with your 
own, it may happen you light ac- 
cidentally on the captain's, and 
some embarrassment may ensue. 

Why should you be angry be- 
cause an old friend of Amanda's 
chooses to talk to her longer than 
you like ? Is it not enough for you 
that Amanda has preferred you to 
the old frienrl, to all her old friends, 
and only wishes not to make them 
feel the preference too keenly ? Go 
to ; you are unreasonable ! 

Again, while I recommend you 
not to wear your heart on your 
sleeve for daws to peck at, or, 
in other words, not to flaunt your 
engagement in everybody's, face, 
be particularly careful how you 
inflict upon your friends the 
story ' How you did thrive in 
this fair lady's love, and she in 
yours.' Your lady friends T»ill per- 



haps welcome the recital, for their 
tender, loving natures incline them 
to listen to a tale of love ; but your 
male friends, glad enough to know 
that you are happy, will vote you a 
bore if you give them too many 
details of your happiness. They 
will be sure to discount your de- 
scription of yonr ladylove ; it is ten 
to one they will make tun of you 
and of her too, the ungenerous 
brutes, in the next conversation they 
have with a mutual friend; they 
will think but simply of you for 
talking of that which you should 
keep as private as possible; and 
they will wish you at Jericho if you 
take up much of their time with a 
matter in which they can have but 
a specially limited interest, 

' Jt is the most egregious bore 
Of all the bores I know, 
To have a friend who lost his heart 
A short time ago.' 

This will be the burden of their 
song, this will be the true expression 
of their inmost feelings ; and though 
good-nature may prompt them to 
bear and forbear, they will assuredly 
feel aggrieved if you draw, as the 
custom of lovers is, upon their 
patience ad libitum. 

As for Amanda, it would be 
almost presumptuous in me to offer 
her any counsel, yet, at the risk of 
offending so charm iug a young lady, 
I will venture to suggest that she 
should be very cluiiy of confiding 
too much to her ' dearest Jane' or 
Lucy. The chances are she will 
say more than s'le intended, and 
there will be some additions made 
by lively imaginations. Let her re- 
member she has some one else's 
confidence to keep besides her own. 
Let not the love of triumph, the 
communicative springs of happiness, 
still less the mere love of ' hearing 
or telling some new thing,' lead 
her into imparting thoughts which 
are already ' engaged.' Let her not 
exult by word or action, as I have 
seen some do, over her compeers 
who are unattached ; ' there is many 
a slip,' &c. Above all, let her con- 
sider very tenderly the abnormal 
position in which she and all about 
her are placed during the term of 
her engagement— let not that be 



1 



Humours ofth€ Paris JExhibiUon. 



19 



long — and let her try to accommo- 
date herself to the convenience — 
ay, even to tlie prejudices of those 
whom she is soon to leave, and to 
whom she will thereafter be glad 
that she showed so much considera- 
tion and self-denial. Finally, let 
her not on any account forget to 
ask me to the wedding. She may 
rely upon my services in the matter 



of giving away, of speech-makingi 
of flinging the slipper, of drying 
the tears of the respective mothers- 
in-law, of anything, in short, which 
may properly and fairly be con- 
sidered as forming part of the 
office and duty of the devoted ad- 
mixer of all Amandas. 

F. W. R. 



HUMOURS OF THE PARIS EXHIBITION. 



I 



ENOUGH has been said about the 



J Paris Exhibition in the way of 
d(JScription and criticism, and, to 
state a candid impression candidly, 
I think it has been overpraised and 
overwritten about. But before it 
closes'' let me gather up some per- 
sonal reminiscences and a few addi- 
tions of adventure that will keep 
clear of the newspapers. Going about 
among one's friends and acquaint- 
ances, Paris has been the promi- 
nent idea all the spring and sum- 
mer. When I lunched lately with 
the Griggses of Clapham Park (old 
Griggs being safely stowed away at 
the Stock Exchange), mamma and 
the girls told me that though they 
had certainly been bitten by Overend 
and Gurney, they had made up their 
minds (old Griggs having always 
kept within a margin) that it was 
absolutely necessary, particularly 
with respect to public opinion in 
Clapham Park, that they should do 
the Exhibition. How excited the 
dear girls became when they talked 
about the amusements and dissipa- 
tions of Paris, fur which the Exhi- 
bition would furnish colour and 
excuse; and how unreservedly did 
Mrs. Griggs take me into confidence 
about Overend and Gurney ; and 
how glad she was to find that she 
was not absolutely obliged to go to 
the Grand Hotel or the Louvre, and 
that every meal would not neces- 
sarily cost a napoleon a head. 
Griggs aslccd me a f«w days after to 
partake of a saddle of mutton, which 
meant a gorgeous dinner, in which 
there was no apparent falling off 
from pri">tine splendour. At the 
dinner I certainly contrasted the 



lofty politeness of the young ladies 
with the cozy familiarity of the 
lunch, and I am afraid I thought 
worthy Mrs. Griggs a humbug for 
alluding in that distant way to the 
Paris Exhibition, as if it were a sub- 
ject that had only lately and acci- 
dentally entered her thoughts. I 
knew that Griggs would laave to 
submit; it was only a matter of 
time ; and sure enough the Griggses 
turned up, as will be hereafter men- 
tioned in this veracious narrative. 
Likewise several friends of mine 
rushing into matrimony about this 
time, despite my gentle dissuaKives, 
which met with less attention than 
my valuable remarks ordinaiily re- 
ceived, I was much consulted on 
the advisability of proceeding to 
Paris for the honeymoon. I quite 
admitted that in one point of view 
there was a great deal to be said for 
the idea. You will not be bored 
with each other so soon, having the 
Exhibition to fall back upon. Poor 
Widdicombe, who was married the 
other day, about a week after the 
event, had to telegraph to some 
friends to join him, as he and his 
bride were tired of each other's so- 
ciety. Still, in crossing the Channel, 
you may be placing your.'elf and 
your wife under very unromantic 
conditions. Supi> ising one or both 
of you are very ill, you will either 
be making yourself ridiculous at 
the very time when you would wish 
to be most interesting, or beginning 
to signalise yourself too early for 
brutal indifference. However, seve- 
ral braces of married pairs disre- 
garded my advice, and on some far* 
distant ^ay they will probably a«* 



20. 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition. 



knowledge to me t1iat they regretted 
they did not follow it. Then, again, 
there were a whole lot of under- 
graduates from Trinity, who went 
over en masse, and did not even 
think it necessary to make any pre- 
tence of a coach and private read- 
ings. I was hardly surprised to 
Hnd my own old col lego friend, Jones, 
at the Exhibition, for wherever I go 
I meet Jones as a matter of conr>-Je. 
He is a special correspondent to some 
paper, and at the present moment is 
getting his traps together to be off 
to Abyssinia. But I confess I was 
very much and agreeably surprised 
to see my fiiend the Eev. Tiuophi- 
lus Gataker, who for the last tliirty- 
five years has been imranred in a 
rectory in Dorse tshire, during winch 
time he has liardly visitid London, 
turning upon the Boulevards, and 
placidly imbibing sherry cobMer at 
an American bar. But we live in an 
era of revolutions, and Mr. Gataker 's 
revolutionary movements struck me 
more forcibly as a sign of the times 
than Mr. Disraeli's Household Par- 
liament. 

As I was staying for a little while 
at Calais, it was a great amusement 
to check off the different people who 
were passing; to and fro. About this 
time the balance of summer weather 
had been seriously disturbed. Vio- 
lent winds had i-et in, and on the 
narrow seas it alternately blew a 
quarter, a half, and a whole gale. 
Travellers tell us of a certain half- 
way station, I think somewhere on 
the Andes, where a singular con- 
trast is pre.'^ented between the as- 
cending and descending travellers 
who meet at the same point. Those 
who are mounting are shivering 
with cold, and those who are de- 
scending are fainting with heat. 
Not otherwise was the scene at 
Calais. Jaunty, well-dressed, and 
smiling were the travellers who had 
just come back from Paris ; miser- 
able, disordeily, and in the deepest 
dejection were those who had just 
lauded from Dover. These looked 
cheerily at the sky and took weather 
observations on the quay, as if they 
could thus obtain the smallest indi- 
cation of the slate of matters in the 
mi;]dle of the Channel; those were 
thoroughly beaten, and, aslJing for 



bedrooms and brandy, declared their 
utter inability to proceed to Paris 
on the same day. Jones alone was 
unmoved. He told me that he had 
been twice round Cai'e Horn, tod 
had spent a considerable part of his 
life upon the Bay of Biscay. As for 
one of the lovely young brides who 
showed upon this occasion, I am 
afraid that even thus early in the 
gushing spring of life she had ar- 
rived at the conclusion, speaking 
metaphorically, that matrimony is 
not all beer and skittles. She had 
considerably picked up next morn- 
ing, and by extianrdiuary efforts at 
matronly demeanour, endeavoured 
to convince the brcakfiist-table world 
that she was celebrating her silver 
or twenty-tifth wedding-day, instead 
of being fresh from St. George's, 
Hanover Square. But even more 
than those who had suffered in their 
passage I pitied those who were 
about to make it — 

' Unheeding of tlie sweeping whirlwind's sway, 
Which, husli'd in giira repose, awaits its 
evening prey.' 

I had been in the Avenue La- 
bourdcmuaye, looking at the Belgian 
collection of pictures, when T saw 
the Griggses apjiroach the office for 
issuing weekly tickets. The elderly 
Griggs hail been profoundly pen; - 
trated with the idea, while on the 
Stock Exchange one day, that the 
proper thing was to take the weekly, 
ticket, whereby an entire admission 
was secured, also a free pass to all 
the 2^t''<^!J^'^ speciuiix, and you might 
go in and out as often as you liked 
and at any entrance. This is all 
very true, and the Griggses were iu 
the right to take weekly tickets; 
only they ought to have remera- 
bertd,for I had given them the hint, 
that they must be provided with 
photographs, to which their weekly 
ticket is added. But somehow they 
had imbibed the imbecile idea that 
in the case of Britishers this rule 
was not very strictly insisted on, 
little knowing tlie Gallic passion for 
organization and the Median strict- 
ness of their regulations. They had 
all the consolations which shru'^'s 
and smiles couM impart, but the 
rules were inexorable; an I all the 
officials could do was to point out 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition. 



21 



to them a photographic ^tablish- 
ment where their cartes do visite 
might be taken with the least pos- 
sible (Jehiy. Si) Mr. and Mrs. Griggs, 
and Master Griggs, atid the two 
Miss Griggsos had to dangle about 
a photographic studio for the whole 
of the morning, and the old birds 
did not at all appreciate the fifty 
francs whiclt formed the initial ex- 
pense of the Exhibition. They 
would have saved time and money 
if they had had minds open to con- 
viction. Laura Griggs is a very 
nice girl, that is to say, as nice as 
any girl of the name of Griggs can 
be, and the sooner she changes it 
the bett<;r. I have my doubts, how- 
ever, whether she would consider 
the name of Tompkins any improve^- 
ment ; I am afraid that Griggs pere 
would consider it an impecunious 
name. Chatting with Laiara in the 
studio was very pleasant for a time, 
but I question if even Petrarch him- 
self could have stood very much of 
Laura, if a grilling sun was glower- 
ing through a glass roof, and the 
dust wa^ an inch deep on the bare 
floors and tlie mutilated chairs, and 
grinning idiots came and went on 
the same monotxmous errand con- 
nected with their inexpressive coun- 
tenances, and a very strong smell of 
chemicals was pervading the esta- 
blishment, and the British father 
was loudly execrating the stupidity 
of his wife in not bringing the pho- 
tographs and the stupidity of the 
French in wanting them, and there 
were seventeen flights of stairs to 
traverse between the atelier and the 
entrvaijj. It was edifying to meet 
Mr. Griggs some hours later, with a 
little library packed under his arm, 
containing an entire and unique 
collection of the catalogues, and ad- 
dres>ing himself to the sy.stematic 
study of the diflerent objects. I 
made the mental calculation that 
this enthusiasm for knowledge would 
continue till Griggs should arrive 
at the British reiVeshment .depart- 
ment, when Griggs '.vouM assuredly 
pubside into a state of liottled stout. 
There was one particular scientific 
object which received considerable 
attention from my fiiend. This 
con'iistcd of the plans and sections 
of a contemplated railway across 



the Channel. I wonder if the in- 
genious framer of those plans ever 
had any actual experience of a galo 
in a Channel. The notion of any 
bridge of boats ever spanning the 
waves under a sou' wester is one 
of the most marvellous and in- 
congruous that could ever have 
occurred to the imagination of an 
architect ofLaputa. When wo had 
cleared out of Dover we had found 
ourselves at once in the teeth of a 
gale, and a sea behind (the nndit' 
ticquaccs of Horace) swept clean over 
the deck, and Laura Griggs had 
been enveloped at once in a sheet of 
water, and might have imagined 
herself in bathing costume beneath 
the briny. I need hardly say that 
there was a manly form at hand on 
whose stalw;irtarm she could find 
support. After the bottled stout 
Mr. Griggs was not long in steering 
his way to one of those tieep leather- 
covered circular settees which are 
infinitely more com tbrtal)le than any 
of the chairs, for which two sous are 
demanded. Here the worthy man 
reclined, and s])read a yellow silk 
pocket-handkerchief over his head 
and deliberately composed himself 
to sleep. Quite a circle of admiring 
Frenchmen gathered round him, 
and I confidently expect to find 
him reproduced in the 'Charivari' 
slioitly. In the meanwhile 1 pio- 
neered the ladies to the Janlin re- 
serve, and envied the cool fishes 
that were swimming about so lei- 
surely in their aquarium. In that 
cool grot Laiara was accidentally 
separated from her party, but I had 
impressed upon them the precau- 
tion that in case of any such acci- 
dent they should resort to the pavi- 
lion of coinage in the central garden 
at the stroke of the hour. L'azed 
and amazi d to the la.st degree were 
the Grig^ses on their first day, and I 
quite pilied Laura, who would have 
revivified if the poor girl could have 
had a quarter of an hour's rest from 
the iuces.-^aut tumult and noi.so. 

One day I had mentioned tliis fact 
to Jones, how this restless Exhibi- 
tion tired one so soon, and that I 
should enjoy it doubly if only I 
could get a little repose and read 
my morning ' Galignani,' which has 
the same sedative effect for me as a 



22 



Humour^ of the Paris Exhibition, 



morning pipe. ' Come along with 
me/ said Jones, tapping me upon 
the shoulder. Then Jones led me 
into a large cool room, spacious and 
silent, wliere a large table was lite- 
rally covered with newspapers and 
periodicals, and little tables had 
writing materials and blotting-pa- 
pers ; and better than all was the 
enjoyment of ease and privacy, and 
the consciousness that out of that 
surging human sea I had planted 
my foot on dry land at last. ' Oh, 
Jones, this is kind !' I said, as I 
wrung his hand and a manly tear 
started to my eye. * What jolly 
club is this? Put me down as a 
visitor, or make me a member. Ex- 
pense is no object.' Then Jones 
grimly smiled, and pointed me to 
the printed bill, * Working Man's 
Hall.' 'Jones,' I said, 'I will be a 
working man. Ease before dignity. 
I will wear corduroys and a blouse 
before I lose this paradise of the 
Exhibition.' I may here mention, 
parenthetically, that very few cor- 
duroys and blouses ever came into 
this fairy hall, which was a secluded 
deserted island in the middle of the 
waste. 'Tompkins,' said Jones, 
' if you were the British aristocrat, 
or a bloated capitalist, or a man of 
letters and genius, you might sigh 
in vain for admission into this pala- 
tial hall. Labour is king. The 
British workman is the ruling influ- 
ence of the state, and yon may judge 
of his supremacy by the fact that 
the only place at all approximating 
to a club in the Exhibition has been 
jippropriated to the British work- 
man, and the man of mere educa- 
tion and refinement has no retreat 
of the kind.' Jones is a fellow of 
infinite resource. He contrived, 
greatly to my delight, to present 
me with a ticket of membership, 
and I was quite prepared to coalesce 
with the British working man, who eo 
rarely turned up, however, that I had 
no opportunity of extending to him 
the grasp of brotherhood. Jones 
knows a lot of queer things. I can- 
not think how he manages to pick np 
his information, only I know that 
he, or rather the people who own 
him, will give any amount of money 
to get it. He has repeatedly told 
lue important items of Paris news 



the evening before they appeared in 
the Paris morning papers. ' There 
was a queer story going a little 
while ago,' said Jones, ' at the time 
the Emperor distributed the prizes 
at the Palais in the Champs Elysees. 
You were there, I suppose ?' said 
Jones. I was compelled to own 
that I was not. ' I was, though, 
and not so very far from the impe- 
rial dais. The story is,' he con- 
tinued, lowering his voice, 'that 
when some man belonging to the 
electric telegraph came to receive 
his prize from the hands of the 
Emperor, he slipped into his hands a 
paper, on which he had written, 
Maximilian is taken, and shot. It 
was the first intelligence that 
Jiad come to Europe, and amid all 
the splendours of the scene, the 
Emperor quailed visibly. Curious 
story, isn't it, Tompkins ?' said 
Jones. 'Do you believe it?' I in- 
quired. Jones was silent, and de- 
clined to answer. 'I didn't put 
it into the paper,' he added, ' but, 
for all that, so ran the story at the 
time, and I observed that it got into 
one of the foreign newspapers.' 

Those Griggses were certainly the 
most helple.-s people in the world, 
thoroughly unversed in Parisian 
ways, and with all my regard lor 
Lauras belongings, the thing be- 
came rather ' a grind.' It was quite 
a separate piece of education to 
teach them how to get to the Exhi- 
bition. I used to convey them 
safely to the railway station in the 
Eue d'Amsterdara, where they 
could not go far wrong, as the line 
set them down within the very 
building itself Then, for a change, 
I took them through the Louvre to 
the steamers, where, on the river, 
they always found a fresh breeze, 
and, boating between the quays, saw 
the finest view which Paris could 
offer. It was I who showed them 
that they need not necessarily b^ 
cheated by the coach-drivers, and 
exp'ained to them the mystery of 
the coirespondence of omnibuses. 
It was I who enabled them to navi- 
gate their own course in triumph to 
the Porte Rapp. It was I who was 
their escort to St. Gerujains, St. 
Cloud, and Fontainebleau, and, in- 
stead of allowing them to tread in 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition, 



23 



the beaten track of tourists, took 
them to choice bits of genuine forest 
scenery in these regions, which, by 
themselves, they could never have 
found out. But why should I enu- 
merate all the boons I showered 
upon this family, whose ingratitude 
— but I must not anticii^ate the 
tragic portion of my narrative. The 
Griggses had gone to an hotel in 
one of the streets between the 
Champs Elysees and the Faubourg 
St. Honore, the heart of the English 
quarter. They had got a floor to 
themselves, almost as complete as a 
Scotch flat, ami Mrs Griggs, having 
the recollection of Overend and 
Guruey before her, had resolved to 
make the matutinal cottee herself, 
and not have it sent up from the 
hotel. I met Griggs rushing about 
the Faubourg one morning, and he 
asked me, in a distracted state of 
mind, what was the French for 
coffee-pot. I helped him out of his 
difficulty, and saw him return to his 
inn with the humble but comforting 
article surreptitiously concealed be- 
neath his overcoat. The dining dif- 
ficulties that beset the Griggses 
were very great. They had gone 
into a cafe and demanded dinner, 
but Laura, whose lioarding-school 
French had been conlidently relied 
on, broke down altogether under 
the test, and Mr. and Mrs. Griggs, 
finding that they could make no- 
thing of the carti' that had been 
handt d to them, majestically sailed 
out into the streets, i gave them 
a good dinner and a pleasant even- 
ing on one occasion, but I could 
not always be doing that sort of 
thing. We dined together at the 
Cercle International — about ten 
trancs a head, including wine- after 
we had had a long afternoon at pic- 
tures, and then sat out in the open 
air, listening to the music of Strauss' 
baud; then we drove to the hotel 
for cohee, and afterwards went to 
the Theatre Lyrique, where, with 
incredible pains, I had managed to 
secure a box for the performance of 
Romeo et Juliette. That was really 
a great thing for Laura Griggs, for 
it enabled her to compare among 
her friends Patti's personation of 
Juliette with that of Madame Mio- 
lan-Carvalho, for whom Gounod 



composed the music. In fairness 
perhaps, it ought to be men- 
tioned that old Griggs performed 
the useful but subordinate part of 
paymaster. I myself lean to the 
opinion that the charges against the 
French for imposition are, upon the 
whole, rather exaggerated, and that 
they are no worse than the Lon- 
doners were in 1862. Yet I must 
allow that the Griggses were grossly 
victimized in the matter of their 
dinners at the hotel. There was 
certainly an announcement iu thin 
gold letters that there was a tuble- 
(i'hote a 6 hmres. I flatter myself 
that I know something of the tahles- 
d'hote of Paris, and I venture to say 
that for years there had been no 
regular tahle-d'hote at that hotel. 
The salle-a-manyer totally contra- 
dicted all the received notions about 
French cleanliness and glitter, being 
dark and bare and repellent. The 
Griggses were surprised that they 
were always dining alone, and that 
the dinners contradicted all their 
notions respecting the glories of 
French cookery. I dined with them 
one day in a friendly way — what old 
Gilbert called'' promiscuous-like ' — 
and took mental as well as bodily 
stock of the feed— a very thin soup^ 
no fish, bif-stack (sic), and 2^ommes- 
de-terre, haricot verts, (jigot de mou- 
ton, volaille (microscopic merry- 
thoughts), and lettuces drenched in 
oil. Voila tout ! The dessert was 
not bad, and old Gilbert gave us 
champagne ad libit ton. He com- 
plained to me bitterly of his French 
dinners. ' They are not so I'ad/ I 
replied, ' provided you take a sulfi- 
cient number of them in the course 
of the day.' I had no doubt but 
the landlord procured the dinners 
from a neighbouring restaurant, and 
charged " napoleons where he had 
paid francs. Griggs showed me 
his bill for the week, which, when 
stated in francs, sounded enormous. 
1 explained to him that for much 
less he might dine very wejl at the 
, Palais Royal or on the Boulevards, 
and for not much more he might 
dine sumptuously at Dotesio's or 
Philippe's. The old gentleman ex- 
plained that they were most days at 
the Exhibition, and always had a 
solid lunch at Spiers and Pond's, or 



24 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition. 



Bertram and Eo1)erts's. I invited 
them to coiiiO and dine with me on 
the Bouleviinls, and I was tliis time 
the real host. It was au immense 
room, and the hidies looked almost 
frightened. There was certainly 
the drawback of some qtiestionable 
people parent, and I was afraid that 
I had got myself into a scrape, but 
my worthy friends were none the 
wiser. They enjoyed taking their 
colTee on tho Bonlovurds, although 
rather nervous that their presence 
there nn'ght not be quite comme il 
fuitt, but safe under their double 
guardianship. 

James, of Trinity, was perhaps 
tho most interesting member 
of the group of Cantabs. Just 
before he came abroad he had re- 
ceived a legacy of two thousand 
pounds, and 1 think the receipt of 
this legacy had something to do 
with his coming abroail, for, as they 
say of chiUlren, the money was 
burning a hole in his pocket. He 
said that the interest would not be 
of the slightest use to him, and that 
therefore it would be advisable to 
expend the principal. After all, he 
was not so very extravagant, and 
the men around him were not men 
who would allow him to be extrava- 
gant on their accoiuit. But we saw 
no objection to his giving us a little 
dinner, to eelebratu the vktues of 
the deceased relative who had left 
him this unexpected windfall.' It 
was certainly the best dinner which 
I had during my last trip to Paris. 
It was at the Trois Freres. 1 will 
just mention some details, as it will 
bo interesting to some persons to 
know how people can dine in Paris. 
The arrangement fur the dinner was 
thirty francs a head, exclusive of 
wines. Of wines there was every 
conceivable kin I, and of the best; 
no bottle co.-t less than a napoleon, 
and no glass of li<;iicHr less than 
three francs. The dishts were sent 
up in endless multiplicity, and, of 
course, an immense number of them' 
were necessarily sent away un- 
tasted. The waiters had a sove- 
reign between them. The expense 
of the dinner to its. hospitable donor 
was a little over live pounds a 
head. 



The next day I had been endea- 
vouring to improvo my mind in the 
useful and industrial part of the Ex- 
hibition. I had wandered over the 
trackless wastes devoted to dry ma- 
nufactured goods, a display in which 
tho French certainly beat us from 
the simple circumstance that the 
English manufacturers with remark- 
able unanimity abstained from ex- 
liihiting. Still tired by the same 
noble thirst for knowledge, I exa- 
mined many models of engines, but 
when I attera^jted to take some 
sketches I was sjieedily brought to 
an anchor by the prohibitions of the 
police. Tlien I listencii to the mul- 
titudinous clanging of tho clocks 
proclaiming the hour, and thinking 
of Charles the Fifth and his diffi- 
culty at Yuste in making his clocks 
keep time, a secret which the French 
clockmakers have not altogether suc- 
ceeded in solving. Suddenly 1 heard 
a great cheering and slu)uting, and 
from corridors and picture galleries 
the people came rushing forth in that 
excitement which so rapidly flares 
up in a large concourse, and outside 
there was cheering, laughing, and 
gesticulations. Coidd it be the 
Emperor ? I thought. Could Queen 
Victoria suddenly have changed her 
mind and come over '? A moment's 
reflection told me that emperors and 
queens could hanlly have caused all 
that excitement. At one time they 
were to be seen almo.^t any day at 
the Exhibition, noiselessly pursuing 
their work of examhiation in an 
orderly, business-like way, glad to 
escape any attention; and if a mob 
of gazers gathered around, a cordon 
was quickly fjprnied, the approaches 
inteicepted, and the royal view 
confined to those who first caught 
sight of it. Dashing forth to inquire 
what it was that had disturbed the 
French people from their conven- 
tional propriety, my wandering gaze 
encountered the following spectacle 
On a moveable fauteuil sat James of 
Trinity, triumphantly waving his 
hat and insisting en favouring the 
mob with a specimen of British 
eloquence. A proce.-sion of nine 
other fauieuils followed in order, 
consisting of James' set, and va- 
rious other young men whom they 
had met accidentally at one of the 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition. 



25 



restaurants, and with wliorn they 
had gloriously iimalgamiited. Then 
after lunch the idea of the proces-^ion 
occurred to them. I was ast.onislied 
to recognise the intellectual features 
of Jones lunong the Cory l)autic in- 
liahitants of the fauteiiils. Tliey ex- 
plained afterwards tliat there had 
been no regular processJDn since 
tlie opening of the l)nil(liiig, and 
something of the kind was sadly 
wanted. Tiie astonishment of the 
onlookers was great when they saw 
the chairs UMiuIly appropriated to 
invalids or weaklings tilled with a set 
of stalwart jouiig men, itnder the 
influence of a luncii rather too much 
on the scale of the dinner of the 
preceding day. 1 lost sight of the 
procession as it ra[)idiy pruc( eded to 
round the circle. The magic word 
'Anglai.ses' whisjiercd and rapidly 
caught up among the crowd seemed 
fully to account for any eccentricity 
or lunac.v which the jouug men had 
displayed. 

A friend of Mr. James, whom we 
will call iiolle, had chosen to fall in 
lovo with one of the young women 
who belonged to one of the restau- 
rants. It was not the young maid 
at the Tunisian cafe, who monoto- 
nously sings all day long ' Oh wo 
shall all be glad when Johnny comes 
marching home,' which her cosmo- 
politan audience is convinced is one 
of the vernacular melodies of North 
Africa. Neither was it a French vi- 
vandiere with her heroic associa- 
tions, nor yet one of those Tyrolese 
or Bavarian peasants who in the 
picturesque costume of their coun- 
try hand you the wholesome goblet 
of foaming beer. It was, 1 believe, 
some English maiden, and Eolle fell 
a victim to a fine head of hair. At 
the Exhibition, English beauty, at 
least at the restaurants, chiefly runs 
into hair. ' Hair is a difficult and 
curious fcubjt.'ct, Mr. Rolie,' said 
Jones, giving me a sly nod, as we 
three sat one night at M. Draher's, 
making an impartial and scientific 
comparison between the beer of 
Vienna and our country'^ ' bitter.' 
' Are you aware, Mr. llolle, that the 
subject of the human hair has 
greatly occupied the attention of tlie 
commissiouers, and as the chignon 
Las convincingly shown how com- 



paratively scanty is the natural sup- 
ply, the promotion of the natural 
growth has become a serious object 
of public interest, it would hardly 
do to make such a matter the sub- 
ject of public coin])etiti()n, but I be- 
lieve I am correct in stating that an 
intimation was given to respective 
restaurateurs that quantity of hair 
was reipiisite for those who should 
assist behind the counters, and sub- 
stantial prizes would be privately 
coufrrred. 1 believe, Mr. Kolle, that 
the yuung lady who sjjeiids so much 
of her time in conipouuding iced 
drinks for you has obtained either a 
silver medal or honourable mention.' 
1 do iii)t know whether Rolle alto- 
gether appreciated Jones's irony, for 
he was ' true Yorkshire bred — 
strong in the back and weak in the 
head.' It is of Rolle's strength of 
back and weakness of head that I 
am about to speak. We need not 
go further into the history of his 
admii'alion for that head of hair. 
The owner thereof used regularly 
to administer sherry cobbler and 
brandy-smash to Mr. Ilolle by the 
hour; but if he became at all amatory 
in his attentions ho wa.s i)roraptly 
consigned to the attendance of a 
grihuing waiter. As a matter of 
fcicr, after liolle had iirobal)ly in- 
jured liis constitution t)y the num- 
ber and variety of his iced and aerated 
drinks (not to speak of the corre- 
sponding detriment to his sub- 
stance) he withdrew in disgust as 
other men had done both l)efore 
and after him. At the present time, 
however, it was the custom of Mr. 
Eolle to sjiend the concluding hours 
of the evening at this restaurant, 
when he found the coast tolerably 
clear and he might more leisurely 
pursue his little game. For lii.vself, 
I found that the evening hours at 
the Exhibition were intolerably dull. 
A spasmodic eflbrt had been made 
to represent them as peculiarly bril- 
liant, and to persuade the put)lic 
that the hours bet'^een the closing 
of the building and the clo.^ing of 
the park were of the most cheerful 
and festive kind. But the show 
was closed and the lights none, and 
the crowds thin and thinner except 
in the immediate neigh l)()urhood of 
the restaurants, and the attempts to 



26 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition. 



impart to the Exhibition nights an 
Arabian character utterly collapsed. 
As having a siieciai ol^ject at this 
time, Mr. Rolle never failed to pre- 
sent himself towards the conclusion 
of each days proceedings. One 
evening, however, he was later than 
the half-hour beyond which there 
was no admission. He endeavoured 
to argue the case with the officials 
in husky Engli.sh and still more in- 
different French. The French logic, 
that of kec])ing the rules, is always of 
a remorseless character. Then Rolle 
retired within himself, steps a few 
steps back, collects all the strength 
in his back, and at a boi;nd cleared 
the barrier. Imoiediately the gens 
d'armes seized him — and he ought 
to have had the sense to know that 
any resistance would have been ut- 
terly futile and foolish. Then Rolle 
struck out right and left, and mate- 
rially marred the Gallic visage be- 
fore lie was overpowered by sui)eri- 
ority of weight. At the moment 
when Joue^ and I caught sight of 
him two of the French police had 
their fists in his neck-tie and Rolle 
was showing every sign of approxi- 
mate suffocation. At our urgent 
entreaty the detaining grasp was 
withdrawn, and then Rolle struck 
wildly out and perpetiateda series 
of assaults for whieh a Bow Street 
magistrate would have pent him to 
prison without the alternative of a 
tine. He was immediately led off to 
some cells, and Jones, who under- 
stands all sorts of things, told me 
that Rolle could not possibly get off 
under a fortnight's imprisonment. 
We followed the police to see what 
we could do ; and I will do Jones 
the justice of saying that he came 
out nobly, and spoke most elo- 
quently in excuse of Rolle. I per- 
ceived with astonishment tli*t the 
police evidently knew Jones, and 
very favourably, but Jones knows 
eve i-y body. To my great joy Rolle 
was discharged ; but as soon as the 
infatuated idiot was told of this he 
used violent language to all the 
Frenchmen present and wanted to 
fight them all round. The result of 
this was that he was remanded to a 
coi)l cell for a couple of hours, and 
then unconditionally released ; the 
French authorities acting through- 



out with extraordinary leniency and 
good temper, and excusing a great 
deal on the ground of insular lu- 
nacy. 

I am glad to think that I was 
able to be of some service to Mr. 
Gataker. That worthy divine was 
thoroughly unsettled in mind and 
body by his separation from all those 
English liat)its amid which he had 
attained an old age. But I showed 
him that an England existed even 
in Paris, and that by a slight ettort 
of fancy he might not bo much 
worse off than in London. I took 
him to Galignani's reading-room in 
the Rue de Rivoli, where he was 
almost as comfortable as at his club, 
and to English eating-houses, where 
he would hear much more English 
than French, and have English chops 
and English steaks and not the 
French ccmnterfeits ; and having a 
taste for English theatricals (for he 
belonged to the old school who had 
no objection to a play onee in a way) 
I took him to the Italiens, whore 
Mr. Sothern was ijerformiog Lord 
Dundreary to the delight of the 
English and the puzzledom of the 
P'rench. At tliis time Lord Dun- 
dreary's intelligent countenance was 
(tfficlic' all over Paris to an extent to 
which the human countenance had 
never been a/lic/ir before. The act- 
ing, as usual, was of consummate 
excellence, but the audiences were 
deplorably thin; most of the resi- 
dent English and American fami- 
lies had left Paris fir the summer. 
Mr. Gataker wandered about reck- 
lessly through the never-ending 
galleries, but he was in a new world, 
and he told me that in his seventieth 
year he did not now care to talk its 
dialect and pick up its knowledge. 
He would slip away from the Exhi- 
bition in the afternoon, and his tall, 
venerable, slightly bent tignre might 
be discerned in the direction of the 
Anglo-American Epi^cojjal Church 
for the afternoon service. Yet there 
was much instruction and wisdom 
to be derived from the simple re- 
marks of my old friend, altteit he 
acknowledged he was as much at a 
loss cm the plain of Mars as he 
should have been on the plain of 
IShinar. One alternoou he went 
with me through the department oi 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition, 



27 



arms and ammunition. The good 
old man looked rather sad. Even 
to his lUKM'itical eye the matchless 
art and ]ieifection of our armoury 
was visible ; and certainly no other 
country lias sent oat a warhke dis- 
play equal to that issued from 
Woolwich. ' It is very silly of us,' 
said the old-fixshioned rector, 'to 
allow the secrets of our strength to 
be thus exposed. It is just like 
Hezckiah showing his treasures to 
the Assyrians, and we may yet have 
bitterly to rue our folly. I had a 
brother once, sii", an elder brother, 
who was killed in the reti'eat from 
Afifghanistan, poor fellow ! and when 
I was a lad he took me over Wool- 
wich Arsenal, and though I knew 
nothing about these matters, I am 
able just to discern that there 
have been wonderful improvements. 
Otherwise it is all Greek to me ; or 
rather,' added the old man, as the 
recollection of ancient academic tri- 
umphs gltttered in his eye, 'I could 
manage Greek, but I could not ma- 
nage the subject of artillery. I only 
wish that the art of peace had made 
the same progress as the art of war.' 
I repeated the lines — 

' Ah ! when shall all men's good 
Be each man's aim, and universal peace 
Lie like a line of light across the land, 
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, 
Through all the compass of the goldtn year?' 

He nodded approvingly. ' Mr. Ten- 
nyson, my dear sir, did you say ? 
It is very pretty indeed. A .very 
rising young man, I believe ; only 
I wish he would turn his abilities 
to something else than poetry. 
When we have got all the great old 
poets, Dryden, and Pope, and Mil- 
ton, and Gray, and Goldsmith, I do 
not see what need we have got of 
any more poetry, at all events until 
people know the old ones thoroughly 
lirst, which is certainly not the case 
in my part of the world. But we 
are only slow swifts, as the saying 
is, down in Berkshire.' When I 
pointed out to him the ambulances 
and medicine-chests for the wounded, 
and reminded him that at all events 
we had improved in the matter of 
hospital nursing, he cheerfully ac- 
knowledged all this. He was greatly 
pleased with some of the models 
of sieges, which were picturesque 



enough, and gave a fresh interest to 
historical narrative. ' Now this,' he 
said, ijointing to a large glass case, 
' is not at all unlike the siege of 
Plataja, which you will find,' he 
continued to his trembling listener, 
' so wonderfully told in the second 
book of Thucydides. The difference 
is that the escalade is of a different 
kind. The snow is on the ground. 
The weather is evidently most bit- 
ter ; the ladders are noiselessly ap- 
plied ; the men are steahng in single 
line across country.' Mr. Gataker 
was a scholar : he particularly 
prided himself on his ancestor's 
edition of the works of the Emperor 
Marcus Antoninus. I knew what 
would please the old man. One 
day I took him to the Rue de Riche- 
lieu, and passing through an arch- 
way into the wide, silent court, 
where a fountain babbles beneath 
spreading foliage, I took him into 
the reading-room of the Biblio- 
theque Imperiale, when he was de- 
lighted with the studious aspect of 
the place and its wealth of books, 
especially delighted when I took 
him into the manuscript room and 
placed Pascal's own papers in his 
hands. To other great libraries 1 
also introduced him, almost un- 
known by the English in Paris, that 
of St. Genevieve and the library of 
the Academy. To those retreats 
he often stole away when tired 
of the noise and confusion of the 
Exhibition. I very much enjoyed 
one afternoon when I took him to 
Billanconrt, perhaps not the less so 
because Laura had given us an inti- 
mation that it was not impossible 
that she might be there. 1 expect 
Mr. Gataker will greatly rise in the 
estimation of his chnrchwardens 
when he gives in his report of the 
agricultural implements. He spoke 
disparagingly of thein, however, and 
said he had seen something as good 
or better in Berkshire. The sure- 
footed Pyrenean horses interested 
him, as also did the Ar,i' s, though 
these last were nearly all of mixed 
breed, chiefly, I imagined, from 
mental associations connected with 
their habitats. He very much ap- 
proved of the Norman method of 
growing fruit-trees, and was hugely 
pleased when I took him into Levy's 



28 



Humours of the Paris Exhibition, 



and showed him Breteuil's great 
work on the subject. I showed him, 
in the depar'iuent of books, our 
unique contributions, consisting of 
everytliing publislied in the .year 
1866, and I gloried in reflecting that 
some of my own contributions to 
the field of literature were included 
in that omnium gatheram. Mr. 
Gataker, who had not thought so 
very much even of IMr. Tennyson, 
made some remarks not very flat- 
tering to the residue of modern 
literature, and he unaccountably 
failed to discriminate my own 
modest efforts from the herd. He 
took also a great deal of interest in 
the cottages. ' It is all very well 
to call the;u cottages,' he said, ' but 
they were only cottage onu'is. Coun- 
try curates might live in them, but 
what I want is something that would 
suit my Berkshire labourers on four- 
teen shillings a week.' I am the 
more particular in speaking of Mr. 
Gataker, because he was the very 
soul of kindness, and the other day, 
meeting me in a state of deep dejec- 
tion, he made me come down to his 
Berkshire rectory, and by his good 
talk and his good port, such as still 
lingers in some rectorial abodes, he 
charmed away a considerable por- 
tion of a personal wrong and grief. 

That wrong and grief related to 
Laura Griggs. Words can hardly 
describe my assiduous attentions to 
the Griggses in general and to Laura 
in particular. On the fifteenth of 
August I conveyed them all over 
Paris. Who but I could have taken 
them so quickly from the Trocadero 
to the Barriere du Trone, have 
showed them the greased poles, the 
giants and dwarfs, the theatricals, 
the serpentine lines of ouvriers 
waiting for the opening of the opera, 
and the illuminations at the Arche? 
How cleverly I got up the whole 
subject of silk worms, to the admi- 
ration of Mrs. Griggs, and took them 
to the Jardin d' Acclimatization, 
which was in this respect more in- 
teresting than the Exhibition. I 
made them drive in the long even- 
ings by the side of the lake in the 
Bois, and took them over to the 
island and refreshed them at the 
Swiss cafe near the cascade ; I in- 
augurated them into the pleasing 



mysteries of our American cousins' 
sherry cobbler, champagne frapp6, 
and brandy cocktail; I kept them 
fully up to the mark in the current 
history of the Exiiibition; I saved 
them from the inconveniences of the 
raid upon the chairs ; I explained 
to them the competition and duel 
of the safes, and af-sured them that 
if my genial favourite, Mr. Caseley, 
had been allowed to compete (his 
trial at the Old Bailey I had wit- 
nessed, and his tearful eloquence 
had profoundly convinced me of his 
innocence) he must have distanced 
all the others; I worked through 
the galleries with them, pointing 
out to them the famous pictures of 
bygone years in Trafalgar Square, 
and tracing, in what I considered a 
masterly way, the influence of the 
modern French school on the whole 
of continental art. Our intimacy 
prompted me to the hope that I 
might one day lead Laura as a bride 
to my ancestral halls, the ancestral 
halls in this case signifying a small 
stuccoed dwelling in Pimlico. I 
was afraid Laura was worldly. 
One day when we were talking of the 
threatened failure of silks, and I 
had expressed a hope that the Cape 
silk would be better thau the Cape 
sherry, she said she hojjed so, as her 
dresses had cost her eiglity pounds 
already this year, being the present 
amount ot my modest earnings at 
the bar. Still, I reflected, the ample 
resources of old Griggs (despite 
Overend and Gurney) might rea- 
sonably cover such an expenditure. 
I, however, was certainly not pre- 
pared the other day, having ad- 
dressed a letter to Clapham Park of 
a certain kind to Laura, to receive an 
answer in the vulgar handwriting ot 
Griggs I'e/r. That gentleman was 
pleased to say that, from the ob- 
trusive nature of my attentions in 
Paris he was not unprepared for 
such a communication, but that I 
had totally mistaken the nature of 
his daughter's feelings. I have no- 
thing to add to this bare announce- 
ment. The mairiage mart is set up 
not only in Belgravia but in the 
Eden-like groves of Clapham Park. 
If it was not for Gataker's port I 
should turn desperate and keep a 
pike. 




Drawn by Florence antJ-'Adelaide Claxtun.] 

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 



[Set- the Sketch. 



St. Valentine's Day, 



29 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 



I 



HAVE long devoted myself to 
that kind of observation which 

. ' with extensive view, 
Surveys mai.kind from China to Peru.' 

Of course it has fallen to me, in 
the operation, to remark many an 
anxious toil and eager strife, as Dr. 
Johnson lias done before me— many 
a passion of hope and fear^of desire 
and h:)te, of ambition and of love. 
The conclusion of the whole matter 
—so far, that is, as I am concerLed, 
for I do not wish to commit the okl 
bear to any proposition half so 
amiable — lias been that love is, after 
all, the master passion, vanquishing 
honour, laughing at death, and, 
about jthis time of year especially, 
writin; innumerable letters. The 
catholit+ty of love and of love- 
making is the only absolute one ; 
and I back it for the only true and 
genuine eirenicon. The memory of 
St. Valentine is touchingly and ap- 
propriately honoured even by those 
who have no id( a of the red-letter 
days of a Christian calendar. Flut- 
tering Cupids daintily hold in their 
softest fetters the gallant mandarin 
who sees the gentle Venus, lioriiiniim 
Divumque volnptas, reiiected in the 
adorable and elliptical eyts of his 
celestial charmer. Dragged along 
by the silken cords, we behold in 
our mind's eye the representatives 
of all populations, from the Pata- 
gonian to the Esquimaux, from the 
Blaori to the Fox Islander, from the 
Uottentot to the extra-civilized races 
of Europe. 

How the impish progeny of the 
Queen of Love ring cmt their joyous 
glee and let fall their tinkling laugh- 
ter at the heterogeneoiis but unani- 
mous procession which marshals 
itself on the artist's brain and peo- 
ples his quaint and fertile invention! 
First with a becoming and national, 
but only outward, insouciunce, 
marches Young England, male and 
female; after whom, separated only 
by the elegant natives of the Flowery 
Land, who have been introduced 
already, proceed, with more outward 
demonstrations of afiection, the re- 
presentatives of a rather more elderly 



England. The drill-sergeant has 
fallen back upon the once despised 
glories of the goose-step, and seems 
to rejoice in parading the aifection 
of his well-preserved elect. Fol- 
lows an Arcadian, sentimentally 
haranguing his lady-love in the 
chastely -ornamental style of Claude 
Melnotte, and eloquently decanting 
about that chateau of his that, on the 
shore of some lake in lovely Spain, 
towers up into the eternal summer. 
Merrily, and taking pleasure plea- 
santly, trips to dance-music the gay 
army subaltern of la grand': nation. 
Then a nondescript pair, whose pas- 
sion is. that of romance and disguise, 
who exchange the ever -fresh and 
kindling vow in the woru-out lan- 
guage of the formal past, and tread 
meanwhile a stately measuie. Fol- 
low a crest-fallen couple who have 
dared the impious expeiiment of 
electing friendship to the place of 
love, one of whom, the spectator 
rejoices to observe, is justly being 
tweaked as to the nose for his au- 
dacity. The pet god is not more 
amiable when indulged than venge- 
ful when his patience has been too 
much or too impudently tried. 
Next after these rebuked and 
punished wretches, a lady of Eliza- 
bethan time and dignity receives 
with a gratified hauteur and with a 
guarded mouth the addresses of the 
gallant who pays a half-Mepiiisto- 
phelean homage in the shape of a 
kiss on the coyly-surrendered hand ; 
whilst the knight, whose motto is 
' God and the Ladies,' sighs to think 
of the vows that come between him- 
self and a more particular selection. 
The squire is happier with his pil- 
lioned demoiselle; and Hodge and 
the grenadier perform to the best of 
their willing ability the almost dou- 
ble duty which three capricious and 
capering beauties demand at their 
hands and hearts. The Elizabethan 
gentleman in the wake of these is 
about, we fancy, to contract a me.-i- 
alliance ; and the tar walks stoutly 
off with a lady who must have fur- 
tively wandered from the neigh- 
bourhood of a Court, and who doubt- 
less enjoys the despair of the barrister 



10 



St. Vahntines Day. 



who in pleading his own caiise has 
become the most unhappy and hope- 
less of suitors. 

All thepe, however, are the mere 
phantoms of the artist's brain ; but 
what shall we say of the fortunate 
pair whose forms in all but flesh 
and blood occupy the centre of his 
ornamental lozenc:e? What shall 
we say ? It is a difficult question for 
any writer or reader to answer who 
is conscious of the necessity of re- 
maining true to an allegiance that 
has been pledged elsewhere. Turn 
over the page quickly, fair lady or 
gallant gentleman, unless, indeed, 
you have the good fortune to be the 
identical ones represented in all the 
intensity of pictorial bliss ; in which 
case, as nobly and ungrudgingly as 
we may, W(i will wish each of you 
joy, and pray that every succeeding 
day may be a renewal of love and a 
commemoration of this day of St. 
Valentine. 

"What memories does not the name 
(^f the dear old saint call up — what 
memories, not all und ashed with re- 
gret ! For, alas ! it is so very easy 
for the best things to degenerate 
into the worst ! As I walk through 
the streets in these latter days of 
January I see in the windows of 
every print-shop flaring and absurd 
parodies of the tenderest of passions, 
monstrosities of z^humanity in- 
tended to burlesque the most sacred 
and the most universal of mortal 
or immortal affections— coarse and 
flaunting vulgarities of form and 
colour, matched by doggrel verses 
offensive and ribald beyond the 
furthest stretch of license. Only 
here and there amongst the hideous 
caricatures there is erected some 
chaste, retiring, and half exposed 
altar of Hymen, from which the 
fames of iccense are with difficulty 
seen to ascend to the delight of a 
group of fluttering Cupids, and to 
the edification of a pair of lovers in 
the act of blessing each other by 
the interchange of mutual vows of 
eternal union and constancy. 

My earlier memories of the feast 
of St. Valentine are of a ditferent 
order. In a primitive and secluded 
district, where life seemed to win a 
solemnity even from its monotony, 
the claims of the most popular of 



the sairits were not so set at nought. 
The stately drama was the business 
of the celebration ; tlie farce, if there 
was one, was an afterpiece which 
followed, as the Christmas hilarity 
followed the morning sermon. I 
iish up from the imperishable stores 
of memory the recollection of the 
mystery that hovered over the ac- 
tious, the sayings, the inuendoes of 
my compeers for many days before 
St. Valentine gave his sauction to 
those hearty declarations which it 
were a forlorn hope to suppose 
could be quite anonymous. The 
kind of valentine I best remember 
in those days was one cut out of 
paper into many curious patterns, 
and folded afterwards into as many 
shapes as the ingenuity of waiters 
has since devised for metropolitan 
dinner- nai)kins. Triangular, oblong, 
square, diamond, circular, polygonal, 
worked out by the cunning sliears 
to the similitude of most elaborate 
lace-work, and made vocal by some 
quaint and ardent rhyme — such were 
the bait with which we angled for 
the favour of our chosen fair, and 
with which, O rapture! we occa- 
sionally succeeded in cajjtivating 
them for a couple of days. The 
arbiter- eleciantiartim in these mat- 
ters, without whom nothing could 
be done, or at least done well, was a 
cheerful lady who, having slighted 
the opportunity of taking that ebb 
in her affairs which led on to matri- 
mony, devoted much ot her genial 
old maiden liood to the delectation 
of the youth of both sexes. Her 
services, her taste, her nimble wit 
and pliant shears, were called into 
requisition whenever an assault 
more determined than usual was to 
be made on some too-obdurate 
charmer's heart. I know not where 
now abides the spirit of that vestal 
priestt ss of Venus ; whether it haply 
fldats ♦about me as J write these 
lines, or whether, still incarnate, it 
initiates tiie yoi;th of the antipodes 
— whither, obedient to some noble 
impulse, she went to end her days — 
into the same mysteries that, twenty 
years ago, were so piquant and en- 
gaging to the youngsters of my 
native village. Peace be to her, 
wherever she may be; yea, peaeis 
must be with, her as a condition of 



St. Valentines Bay. 



31 



her benevolent and placid exist- 
ence. 

Wfcien the valentine was finished . 
came the task of selectinc; a * posie/ 
a legend, a rhyme of true love, 
which had to be written round and 
round inwards until it centred finally 
in a bleeding heart transfixed by the 
dart of Love. Let the hhisc reader 
try to imagine the ineffaV)le tender- 
ness that welled out in such pathetic 
words as 

• The rose is red, the violet, blue, * 
Carniitions sweet, and so are you ; 
And so are they that sent you this; 
And when we meet we'll have a kiss— 
A kiss on the cheek and a kiss on l\ie chin. 
And when we meet we'll kiss again.' 

To this astounding length did our 
proposals go. Wliether they were 
ever carried out, the present depo- 
nent is in no position to say. An- 
other of these poems began with the 
lines 

•As I lay sleeping on my bed, 
I saw a rose and it was red ;' 

the first of which the philosophical 
inquirer into valentine literature 
will be interested in comparing with 
the 

' Quant je suy couchie en mon 1ft,' 

which commences one of 11 '■ numer- 
ous valentines of Charles Duke of 
Orleans, a personage with whom we 
arc iuclined to wish our space en- 
abltd us to make the reader a trifle 
better acquainted. 

In those days, and in that locality, 
—which, we may inform the reader, 
in confidence, was in the neighbour- 
hood of the thriving emporium and 
fashionable watering-place of Daws- 
mere — we urchins, wise in our 
generation according to our lights, 
passed by the temptations of the 
penny- post and delivered our love- 
missives in person. After this 
manner. When tlie shades of even- 
ing had fully closed in upon the 
face of nature, and a row of blinded 
and curtained lights streamed out 
fitfully upon the straggling street, 
the adventurous youtli aro.se and 
sallied forth. His elegant declara- 
tion—possibly he would be Don 
Juan enough to fortify himself with 
more than one — being duly directed 
in the best disguise his hand- 



wi'iting could assume, was laid 
tendei-ly, silently, and with trepi- 
dation of heart against some door 
behind which his inamorata was 
very likely lurking expectant. One 
good heavy knock and a scam- 
per of feet in fearful flight; the 
opening of the door, sometimes all 
too prompt; the groping for the 
valentine on the part of the lovec 
and her jealous sisters- these were 
the circumstances that macjip illus- 
trious the delivery of each. So far 
the youngster had proceeded in good 
faith ; but now, after having cooled 
a little from the fever of doubt as to 
whether he had been discovered, and 
as to how his devotion had been re- 
ceived by the idol of his soul, he 
was at liberty to make fun of the 
fair to whose charms he was indif- 
ferent. His next exploit would be 
a practical joke. A piece of paper 
folded up in some form proper to 
the occasion, and promising as much 
as if it were veritably sick of love, 
would be perforated for a piece of 
string. The sham valentine is laid, 
as before, on the doorstep; the 
knocker is thumped as emphatically 
as before; the retirement as speedy 
as before, but not to so remote a 
distance. The operator has only 
retreated to the further extremity of 
the string, of which the other end 
secures the traitorously -folded sheet, 
when, as before, the door optns. 
Anxious fingers grope until, in the 
semi-darkness, they pounce at length 
upon — the bare, cold ground or the 
vacant stone. The valentine itself 
has moved about six inches. ' 'Twas 
but the wind.' The eluded fingers 
try and try again, whilst again and 
again the wind delights to frustrate 
their intention of taking possession. 
Then comes the climax of the joke. 
Whenever a f/rab has been made at 
the valentine lying on the ground, 
a judicious pull from the observing 
youth lias attracted it in his own 
direction; until the mortified maiden, 
either at length fairly baffled or fully 
enlightened, gives up in despair oi- 
bridles up in wrath, and closes the; 
door with a bang to a chorus of un- 
mannerly laughter from the asso- 
ciates of her tormentor. A variety 
of this joke was to draw the ' coun- 
terfeit presentment' of a valentine 



32 



St. Valentine'a Day, 



m crayon; in other words, to chalk 
a parallelopraiu on tho groimd be- 
fore tlie door. But tliis was a com- 
paratively tame affair, as 1 here could 
of course be only one disappoint- 
ment and one triumph l)flnie the 
mean trick was exploded. I think 
I have heard of pins being intro- 
• iuccd into the valentines to which 
strings were attached ; but this was 
getting far beyond the pale of fun 
into tha| of mischief, if not of wan- 
tonness and malice. For myself I 
will not, because I cannot, confess 
to a malpiai'tico of this kind; but 
of all the others I thank a certain 
Venus of eleven years old -at that 
time, of course ; she is now a Juno 
and a matron— I have had my share. 
To-dny, alas! concerning valentines 
I must profess (idnm csl, so far, that 
is, as the sending of them is con- 
cerned. But no man can bar his 
door against the dulcet appeal of a 
double knock ; and if the valentines 
1 have had the happiness to receive 
for the last tlnvc years from, I be- 
lieve, the isamo failliful and devoted 
angel, wer<. sent by any one who 
reads this tattle of miiie, there is 
still time for her to know that I am 
looking forward to my annual com- 
pliment, and that I am open to a 
declaration which shall not be anony- 
mous. After this candid advertise- 
ment of the state of my aftections I 
shall know, if the post'otRco is neg- 
ligent towards me on the morning 
of the impending festival, that my 
fair one is faithless and that I am 
forlorn. May I be spared the tears 
and dejection of so chilly a convic- 
tion ; yet let me rather be neglected 
than scorned. I M'ould not 'choose 
to appear, even to myself, depicted 
with the ears of Midas, or with the 
sometime head-dress of ' sweet bully 
Bottom,' the weaver. So much, kind 
nader, have I been permitted to say 
of myself; btit I have a few stray 
jottings to lay before you with refer- 
ence to our dear old St. Valentine 
and his world -respected day. 

The peripatetic delivery of valen- 
tines by the principals, to which 
1 have alluded, jiresents features 
analogous to the liroceed in gs which, 
according to the author of '"Rambles 
in an Old City,' characterize the eve 
of St ^■alentine at Norwich. ' The 



streets,' says bladder, ' swarm with 
carriers, and baskets laden with 
treasures ; bang, bang, bang go tlu^ 
knockers, and away rushes the 
banger, depositing first upon the 
doorstep some packages from the 
basket of stores ; again and again at 
mtervals, at every door to which a 
mi.ssive is addres.sed, is the same re- 
peated, till the bask-tsts are empty 
Anonymously St. Valentine presents 
his gifts, labell(>d only "With St. 
Valentine's love," and " fiood-mor- 
row, Valentine." Then within the 
houses of destination, the screams, 
the shouts, the rushings to catch 
the bang-bangs; the flushed faces 
sparkiing eyes, rushing feet to pick 
up the fairy gifts; in.scriptions to 
be mterpretcd. mysteries to be un- 
ravelled, hoaxes to bo foimd f)ut; 
great hainper.s, heavy, and ticketed 
" Wii h care, this side upwards," to 
be un]>acked, out of which jump 
little live boys, wilh St. Valentines 
love to the little ladies fair; tlici 
sham bang-bangs, which bring no- 
thing but noi.se and fun, the mock 
parcels that vanish from the door- 
step by invisible strings when the 
door oj)ens; monster parcels, that 
dwindle to thread-papers denuded 
of their multiplied envelopes, with 
fitting mottoes, all tending to the 
final consummation of good counsel, 
" Happy is lie who expects nothing,' 
and ho will not be disappointed." 
It IS a glorious niglit ; marvel not 
that we would perjietuate so joyous 
a festivity.' 

In Devonshire the peasants be- 
lieve that if they go to the porch of 
a church, and wait there till half- 
pnst twelve o'clock on the eve of 
St. Valentine's day, with a quantity 
of hempseed in their hands, and at 
the time above mentioned, scatter 
the seed on either side, repeating 
these lines— 



* Hcnipsonl I sow, hcnipsci d I mow, 
She (or he) ihat will Diy uiie love be, 
Come rake tlie liempsccil alter me,' 

his or her true love will appear 
behind, in the act of raking up the 
seed just sown, in a windmg-sheet. 
In some parts of Norfolk this .super- 
stition appears modified in time and 
purpose. It is there a part of the 
practices on the eve of St. Mark 
(April 25) to sow the hempseed in 



St. Valentine's Day, 



the expectation that it will be mown 
by the sheeted ghosts of those who 
are to die that year, marching in 
grisly array to the parish church. 
And the rake of the Devonshire 
spectre is replaocid by tlie scythe of 
the ghostly Norfolkman. A more 
pleasant and a nioi-e strictly valen- 
tine use is made of a variety of the 
same ceremonial at Ashborne, in 
Devonshire. There, if a young 
woman wishes to divine who her 
future husband is to be, she enters 
the church at midnight, and, just as 
the clock strikes twelve, begins to 
rim round the building, repeating, 
without break or intermission, the 
following formula : — 

'I sow hempsoed, hpinpseed I sow. 
He that loves me b3st, 
Come after me and mow.' 

And when the young lady has thus 
performed the circuit of the build- 
ing a dozen times without stopping, 
the figure of her lover is supposed 
to answer to the gentle invocation, 
and follow her. 

These are Old World supersti- 
tions, and we are not to look for 
them in the New. But in America 
St. Valentine is popular, and would 
seem to be tiu-nel to a direct prac- 
tical advantage in the way of in- 
itiating tlie process of courtship and 
of facilitating the process of matri- 
mony. Of course, in a great coun- 
try that licks creation, and is just 
now reposing and ' recuperating ' 
after licking itself; where marriages 
are cooked up in a short railway 
trip, and performed by some zealous 
and opportune clergyman in tran- 
situ ; where railway companies at- 
tacli ' bridal chambers ' to excursion 
trains as a part of their regular fur- 
niture ; and where enterprising 
couples plight their troth and endow 
each other with all their worldly 
goods in a balloon — in such a coun- 
try it is no great marvel if there 
should be some truth in the hy- 
meneal puff of an advertisement 
like the following, culled from a 
'Worstcr Demociat' issued in early 
February a few years ago: — 

' The great increase in marriages 
throughout NVaync Co. during the 
past year is said to be occasioned by 
the superior excellence of the 



Valentines 
sold by George Howard. Indeed, 
so complete was his success in this 
line, that Cupid lias again commis- 
sioned him as the " Croat High 
Priest" of Love, Courtship, and 
Marriage, and has sujiplied George 
with the most coinpluto mid perfect 
assortment, of" Love's Armor" ever 
before offered to the citizens of 
Wayne County. During the past 
year the "Blind God" ha^ centred 
his thoughts on producing some- 
thing in the line far surpassing any- 
thing he has heretofore issued. And 
it is with " feelinks" of the greatest 
joy that he is able to announce that 
he has succeeded. 

' Howard has got them ! 
' To tho*e susce])tible persona 
who.«e hearts were captured during 
the past year, (Jeorge refers, and 
advises others to call on them, and 
find them on their way rejoicing, 
shouting praises to the name of 
Howard. The "blessings" descend 
unto even the third and fourth 
generations, and it is probable that 
the business will go on increasing 
year upon year, until Howard's 
valentines will be a " household 
word " throughout the land. The 
children on the hou.se-tops will call 
to the passers-by, shouting 

" Howard's Valentines !" 
while the cry is echoed from the 
ground, and swelling over hill 
and vale, reverberates the country 
through. 

' Remember that the only regu- 
larly-authorized dispenser of Cupid's 
goods is 

George Howard, 
two doors East of the American 
Hou.se, Worster, 0. 

' «^ Ordei's by mail promptly at- 
tended to. Prices range from six 
cents to five dollars. 

' Valentines ! ! 
' A large and splendid assortment 
of valentines, togetlier with all the 
necessary fixings, for sale wholesale 
and retail, at the New Columa 
Building. 

' J. H. BAUMGAUTEIi & CO. 

* Worster, Feb. 3, 1853. 



84 



St. ValtnlineM Day. 



' Valentines. — Beliold, St. Valen- 
tine's Day is coming, and all are 
seekiDg for messages to bo de- 
spatched under cover of this Saint 
to friend or foe. They are provided 
of all kinds, styles, and varieties, 
ready for use. The turtle-dove 
kind, with its coo ! coo ! the sensible 
sentimental, the cutting and severe, 
and, in short, everything that can 
be required. Jnst call on (Jeorge 
Howard or J. H. Baumgarten & Co., 
and you can be suited to a T.' 

Does the curious though hazily- 
informed reader wish at tliis st.age 
of our progress to suggest a ques- 
tion as to who St. Valentine was ? 
That is a question to which, thanks 
to the ' Acta Sanctorum ' and Alban 
Butler's ' Lives of the Saints,' an 
answer is tolerably easy and precise. 
' Valentine Avas a holy priest in 
Rome, Avho, with St. Marius and his 
family, assisted the martyrs in the 
persecution under Claudius II. He 
was apprehended, and sent by the 
Emperor to the PreTect of Rome, 
who, on finding all his promises to 
make him renounce his faith in- 
effectual, commanded him to be 
beaten with clubs, and afterward to 
be beheaded, which was executed 
on the 14th February, about the 
year 270. Pope Julius I. is said to 
have imilt a church near Ponte 
Mole to his meniory, which for a 
long time gave name to the gate 
now called Porta del Popolo, for- 
merly Porta Valentini. The gre;; ' 
est part of his relics are now in tlie 
church of St. Praxedcs. His name 
is celebrated as that of an illustrious 
martyr in the Sacramentary of St. 
Gregory, the Roman Missal of Tho- 
masius, in the Calendar of F. Fronto, 
and that of Allatius, in Bede, 
Usuard, Ado, Notkcr, and all other 
martyrologies on this day. To 
abolish the heathen's lewd, super- 
stitious custom of boys drawing the 
names of girls, in honour of their 
goddess, Februata Juno, outhe 15th 
of this montli, several zealous pas- 
tors substituted the names of saints 
in billets given on this day.' To 
this we would only enter the single 
caveat that the true relics of St. 
Valentine are, in a beatified state, at 
this present moment flaunting in 
nnnumbered stationers' windows. 



and waiting to be scattered abroad 
to the tour winds of heaven on the 
wings of every post. St. Francis do 
Sales, a bishop and prince of Ge- 
neva, who died in 1622, -and was 
canonized in 1665, to whom we are 
inclineil, for tlie sake of his devout 
treatise on ' Piactical Piety,' to for- 
give everything but this, was one of 
the ' zealous pastors ' who, to use 
the words of Alban Butler, ' severely 
forbade the custom of valentines, or 
giving boys, in writing, the names 
of girls to be admired and attended 
on by them : and, to abolish it, he 
changed it into giving billets with 
the names of certain saints to honour 
and imitate in a particular manner.' 
It is too heartrending to contem- 
plate the disappointment of the in- 
genuous youth who, hoping to re- 
cei\^ the likeness or tlie name of 
the blooming Mariana or the sancy 
Julietta, received instead the effigies 
of some musty and dyspeptic ascetic 
at loggerheads with the devil — some 
Antony of the Desert, or somoDun- 
stan of the Tongs. 

In the early part of last cen- 
tury it was tiie custom for young 
folks in England and Scotland to 
celebrate a little festival on tlje eve 
of St. Valentine's Day. * An equal 
number of maids and bachelors,* 
says Mis.'-on, a traveller of veracity 
and discernment, * get together ; 
each writes their true or some 
feigned name upon separate billets, 
which tlicy roll up and draw by 
way of lots, the maids taking the 
men's billets, and the men the maids'; 
so that each of the ni<^n lights upon 
a girl that he calls his ndtntlne, and 
each of the girls upon a young man 
whom she calls hers. By this means 
each has two valentines; but the 
man sticks faster to the valentine 
that has fallen to him than to the 
valentine to whom he has fallen. 
Fortune having thus divided the 
company into so mnny couples, 
the valentines give balls and treats 
to their mistresses, wear their billets 
seveial days upon their bosoms or 
sleeves ; and this little sport often 
ends in love.' 

The great Pepys has some quaint 
and picturoj^que particulars of his 
valentine experience. We copy the 
following entries from his 'Diary' : 



St. Valentine'B Day, 



35 



'Valentine's Day, 1667. This morn- 
ing came up to ray wife's bedside (I 
being up dressing myself) little 
Will Mercer, to be her valentine, 
and brotight her name written upon 
blue paper in gold letters, done by 
himself, very pretty; and we were 
both well plea-ed with it. But I 
am also this year my wife's vi.ltn- 
tine, and it will cost me 5?. ; but 
that I must have laid out if we had 
not been valeutines. 

'February 16. I find that Mrs. 
Pierce's little girl is my valentine, 
she having drav\'n me : which I was 
not sorry for, it easing lue of some- 
thing more that I must have given 
to others. But here I do first ob- 
serve the fashion of drawing mot- 
toes as well as names, so that Pierce, 
who drew my wife, did draw also a 
motto, and this girl drew another 
for me. What mine was, I forget; 
but my wife's was, '' Most courteous, 
and most fair," which, as it might 
be used, or an anagram Uf)on 
each name, might be very pretty.' 
Pepys tells us also that the Duke of 
York, being on one occasion the 
valentine of the celebrated Miss 
Stuart, afterwards Duchess of Rich- 
mond, ' did give her a jewel of about 
800/. ; and my Lord Mandeville, her 
valentine this year, a ring of about 
300/.' 

But we meant to have anticipated 
another question on the part of the 
benevolent reader. St. Valentine 
beieg such as he was, and not a 
bishop who immortalized the day by 
writing a love-letter upon it— as we 
were in very early youth given mis- 
takenly to understand by a here- 
siarch of a nursemaid — how comes 
his name to be used as a cover for 
all the love-doings that take place 
under the quoted sanction of his 
name and authority ? This has al- 
ready been vaguely explained in the 
quotation from Alban Butler. But 
we may f-ay ten more words about 
it; and these words we choose to 
say by deputy of the author of a 
small paper entitled ' The true story 
of St. Valentine,' which appeared in 
the ' Churchman's Family Maga- 
zine ' for February of last year. ' In 
ancient Home there was, about the 



middle of February in ench yeir, 
held the public festival called Lu- 
percalia, which was given in honour 
of the Lyc£ean Pan. One of the 
numerous ceremonies at this pagan 
festival was to put the names of 
young women into a box, froai 
which they were drawn by the 
young men, as chance directed ; 
and as in those days auguries were 
thought much of, and exercised 
great influence over the minds of 
the superstitious Eomans, the girl 
whose name was thus dr.iwn by lot 
from the box was cousilered as a 
person very likely to become the 
future wife of the drawer. As a 
good deal of barbarous and licen- 
tious conduct was often the result 
of this ceremony, the zealous fathers 
of the early Christian Church used 
every possible means in their power 
to eriiiicate these vestiges of pagan 
su])ci-^titions. The names of saints 
instead of these girls were placed 
upon the billets, and that saint 
which each drew was to be his 
tutelary guardian during the follow- 
ing year, and as theLupercalia was, 
as we have already mentioned, held 
about the middle of February, they 
appear to have chosen St. Valen- 
tine's D.iy whtreonto celebrate their 
reformed festival. The exertions of 
the priests were not altogether 
barren of good results, for although 
St. Valentine's Day is a day pecu- 
liarly devoted to love affairs, its 
festivities are no longer as.sociated 
with the pagan aspect which called 
forth the righteous ire of the good 
Fathers of the Church ; a result for 
which we ought to be truly thank- 
ful, and one which is a striking 
example of the good work which 
Christianity is ever doing. It has 
not abolished the custom, but puri- 
fied it. It has taken away the old 
heathen coarseness and licentious- 
ness, but has left unchanged the 
play of human feeling and alfection; 
true-hearted lovers, instead of being 
afraid of their newly-di.scovered 
emotions, may have reason to con- 
gratulate themselves that they are 
under the tutelage of so good and 
noble a saint as Valentine of Rome.* 
S. St. M. 



dc 



Ganine. Gdebn'tiei. 



CANINE CELEBKITIES. 

* I am Ills highness' dog at Kew ; 
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you.' 

WHOSOEVER'S dog you, gentle forgotten; although canine celebrity, 

reader, may be, I, the gt ntle like human, varies in its kind an(l 

writer, am, for the nonce, M. Emile quality ? 

Richebourg's devoted dog and ar- Athos (notorious as ' The Red 
dent admirer. That gentleman has Dog ' throughout the whole arron- 
had the patience— no, he has allowed dissement of Melun) never knew his 
himself the pleasure— of putting to- parents. His mother abandoned 
gether a bulky volume, entitled, him to the care of a goat, who lirst 
' Histoire des Chiens Celebres,' full suckled him, and then discarded 
of all sorts of stories about all sorts him by means of vigorous thrusts 
of dogs. He has been dog-fishing with her horns. His father, an in- 
on an enormous scale, and his net corrigible poacher, appears to have 
has hauled to shore an extraordinary suffered the penalty of the law be- 
variety of canine prey. It is to be fore he could lick his infant son. 
hoped that some publisher will. At the present writing, Athos is two 
with his permission, present us with years old, having been born in Paris 
the entire work in an English dress, on the 15th of June, 1865 Height, 
A great many of the dogs are quite twenty inches ; hair, carroty red ; 
new to us. Nevertheless, there are nose, sharp; chin, round; couute- 
dogs historical, biblical, and clas- nance, angular. Per.sonal peculi- 
sical ; serio-comic, melodramatic, arity, a habit of breaking and smash- 
tragical, and farcical dogs ; dogs ing everything, 
political, domestic, and mendicant; Indue time, Athos was put out 
every dog, in short, you can imagine, to board and lodge with a game- 
and a great many more; for after keeper, who taught him to find, to 
reading M. Richebourg's amusing point, and to fetch, for twenty francs 
compilation, you will confess that per month, or two hundred and 
with them, as often occurs with the forty francs per annum. The pupil 
human race, truth is strange — soon gave signs of promise. In a 
stranger than fiction. fortnight he could find a hen in the 
In turning over his well-filled poultry-yard, catch it at the hen- 
pages, to select a short example or coop, and fetch it to the kennel, 
two, the choice is rendered ditBcult where he discussed it in company 
by his immense store of anecdotic with a couple of bandy-legged ter- 
wealth. Which dog shall I first riers. 

take by the paw to introduce to the ' Good !' said the keeper, when he 

British public? Shall it be a lady beheld the feathers with which the 

or a gentleman? a puppy, or a dog Red Dog had softened the straw of 

advanced in years? a terrier, a turn- his bed. ' I think I shall be able to 

spit, a coach-dog, or a mastiff? At make something of this fellow.* 

the present moment, the weighty He at once made out Athos's bill 

decision may almost be left to for the mouth: — 

chance ; for one of the consequences , ^^"^8- 

-perhaps I ought to say one of Board and instruction during March. . 20 

the premonitory symptoms— of the con^ 't„rn ....'.'.'...'... i 

shooting season is, that men's minds Leasu broken i 

are turned to dogs in general, to Medical attendance for indigestiun after 

pointers and retrievers in par- kiiung the hen ^ 

ticular. Xot,, ,0 

I will therefore ask my sporting ^ 

readers if they ever had, and what The months of April, May, June, 

they would do were they ever to July, and August followed, with 

have, a dog in the guise of Athos like results ; that is, the Red Dog, 

the Terrible — a creature never to be making daily progress, added pigeons 



Canine CelebritteB. 



37 



to hares, ducks to pigeons, arid rab- 
bits to ducks. Tlie gamekeeper 
had never liad a hoarder so little 
particular in his choice of food. 

On the 4th of Septeiulier, the day 
before the opetiing of the shooting 
season, Athos's master, Monsieur 

H , a rising young doctor with 

a limited practice, came to fetch 
him. The teacher brought him out 
in triumph. 

' Jlon-ieur,' he saiil, ' you have 
got there a most wonderful dog. I 
shall be curious to hear of his per- 
formances.' 

* Does he point well ?' 

' Nothing to boast of. He dashes 
off in fiue style; but he listens to 
nothing, will have his own way, 
flushes the game a hundred yards 
oflF, runs after it a mile, and then 
oomes down upon the otiier dogs 
like a thunderbolt. A good crea- 
ture, nevertheless; keen nose, sweet 
temper; all you want.' 

' How does he find ?' 

' Very tolerably. But he is some- 
times before you, sometimes behind 
you, sometimes to the right, some- 
times to the left . never within gun- 
shot, and often not within earshot. 
But a good creature, sharp-eyed, 
sure-footed, keen-nosed, sweet-tem- 
pered ; all you want.' 

' But I hope, at least, that he can 
fetch ?' 

' Whatever you like ; hares, rab- 
bits, pheasants, partridges ; only he 
brings the hares and rabbits in quar- 
ters and the partridges in halves. 
But an excellent creature, capital 
teeth, fine scent, sweet temper ; 
you want nothing more.' 

' I can shoot with hira, then ?' 

'Certainly. Here is his little 
bill.' 

francs. 
Six montlis' board and pal'riial care, at 
20 fr.iiics per month, as agreed. . . 120 

16 hens killed, at J fr 48 

4 diiclcs ditto, at } fr 12 

6 pigeons dittu, at i fr 6 

18 r.ibbitsditto, at J fr 54 

2 fat geese di I to, at 4^ fr 9 

i neighbours' cats ditto, at 5 fr i; 

Crockery broken 4; 

Sheets, napkins, and towels tfirn an<l de- 
voured . 120 

Chil.lfen bitten, gemlarmes insulted, 
rural policemen scared 100 

Total 529 



' Five hundred and twenty-nine 

francs!' exclaimed Monsieur H , 

frightened out of his wits. ' Why, 
the sum is perfectly exorbitant.' 

' Not a sou too luuch. Only keep 
your dog a fortnight, and yon will 
see whether I have overcharged ft 
single item.' 

* Athos must be a confounded 
thief, then — a thorough brigand !' 

' Not at all. He"s only young ; 
fond of play. He kills right and 
left; he plunders; he devours. But 
he's almost a puppy ; he'll grow 
steadier with age. A good creature, 
sweet-tempered ; the very thing for 
yon.' 

Monsieur H paid the money 

with a half-suppressed sigh, and 
started for the farm over which he 
was to shoot next day in company 
with a few select friends and Athos 
the Terrible. 

The night passed quietly enough. 
The only serious discussion the Red 
Dog had was with the house-dog, 
the shepherd's dog, the lap-dog, and 
the eight pointers, his future com- 
panions. The whole was summed 
up in a few torn ears and an ad- 
ministration of the whip by a wag- 
goner, whose hand was as heavy as 
his slumbers were light. Next 
morning, at seven, the sportsmen, 
after swallowing a cup of cafe'-au- 
lait, which was to support them till 
eleven, an<l Athos with a capon on 
his conscience, which enabled him 
to wait for the first wounded hare, 
raneed themselves in battle array. 

The first shot was fired at a covey 
of partridges immediately after en- 
tering a field of beetr()ot. A bird 
fell at Athos's nose; ho looked at it 
distiainfully, and set off in chase of 
the rest of the covey. Unluckily, 
it kept up on tho wing until it 
reached the Marquis de Bonton's 
property. Athos, caring little for 
such trifles, followed it with all the 
strength of his legs and his lungs. 

'Hang the dog! Here, Athos!' 
and other cries, burst forth from the 
exasperated gunners. 

The noife attrac'ed the marquis's 
gamekeeper, who whistled the dog 
to come to him. But Athos, taught 
by experience that a keeper's whistle 
is often the precursor of his whip, 
stared at the whistler and continued 



38 



Canine Celebrities. 



the chase, as if the Departement of 
Seiue-et-Marne had contained neither 
a keeper nor a marquis. Neverthe- 
less, the stoutest sinews will tire. 
After having his run, Athos thought 
fit to rejoin the sportsmen. As he 
sauntered up in one direction, the 
marquis's keeper stalked forward in 
the other. 

' Monsieur,' he said, politely, un- 
covering firist his badge of office and 
then his head, ' I am very sorry for 
what has happened, for you have 
certainly there a most wonderful 
dog. But we have a painful duty 
to perform. You will receive to- 
morrow a summons for tresi)ass. 
Good morning, Monsieur. I wish 
you luck.' 

' A nice beginning !' muttered 
poor H . 

' If you wish it to go on better,' 
said one of his friends, ' I advise 
you to fasten Athos to your game- 
bag behind you. Here's a capital 
strap. If it breaks, I will pay for 
all the mischief he does.' 

The advice was found good. A 
minute afterwards, Athos and his 
master were a semi-attached couple, 
entertaining about the same mntnal 
affection as a coustal)le and his pri- 
soner. They set off again to con- 
tinue their sport. 

'Parbleu!' said H ; 'it was 

the best thing I could do. Gently, 
Athos, there's a good dog. I've 
got you, however. Go at them, 
now, all you like.' 

Telling Athos to ' go at them,' 
was like telling a thief to steal. He 
did go at them so well that he up- 
set his master, and got loose by 
tearing the game-bag to which he 
was fastened. He then celebrated 
his liberty by a zig-zag steeplechase, 
in the course of which he did not 
leave even a lark upon the ground. 

' I have had enough of it for to- 
day,' said H . ' You will find 

me at the farm. Perhaps you will 
keep an eye on Athos.' 

Before entering the house, he 
thought it prudent to discharge the 
left barrel of his gun, which he had 
not fired. He took aim at an apple, 
and pulled the trigger. The apple 
did not fall, but the barrel burst. 
A handful of earth had plugged the 
luouth of the barrel when the Red 



Dog had thrown him down on the 
ground. 

At noon the sportsmen returned 
to luncheon. The Red Dog led the 
way, seizing, as he entered, a fine 
roast fowl, breaking the dish, spil- 
ling the gravy over the farmer's 
wile's new dress, and upsetting a 
maidservant laden with a basket of 
eggs. 

' A pretty piece of business !' ex- 
claimed the farmer's wife. ' If 
people have no better dogs than 
that, the best thing they can do is 
to leave them at home. The next 
time the Red Dog sets foot in here 
the house will be too hot to hold 
him.' 

' The dog will be my ruin,' H 

said to himself, turning as red as a 
new-boiled lobster. 'If this goes 
on, I shall have to leave the coun- 
try. I must really take some deci- 
sive step.' 

With infinite trouble he caught 
the Red Dog ; then he bound him 
band and foot ; then he chained him 
to an iron staple inside the box of 
his dogcart, which he double-locked, 
and fastened outside with an ad- 
ditional bolt. In this way he reached 
home without much further un- 
plea antness. But while his friends 
were counting their game, he made 
a little estimate, for his own edifi- 
cation, of what Athos had cost him 
up to that moment : — 

francs 
Keeper's bill for board and training . 529 

Cnpim for Atlios's breuklusi 4 

SuninionB fi r trespass, &c., &c 40 

Mending torn game-bag } 

Gun burst 500 

Roast fowl, for dinner 4 

Dish broken . • j 

Replacing nitrino dnss spoiled by the 

spilt gravy 60 

Basketful of eggs broken 5 

Total 948 

A fortnight passed without 

H 's friends hearing any news 

of him or of his dog. One of them 
at last received the following 
note : — 

'My dear Charles, 

' You know how I hate -that 
fellow LeJHiine, and the causae of my 
hatred. Y'^ou are aware that be be- 
guiled away my first patient, and 



Canine Celebrities. 



39 



p&rsnaded the womfm I loved to 
marry liiiQ. I swore to be revenged, 
and 1 have Icept my word. I have 
presented hiiu with Athos; he ac- 
cepts the Red Dog. 

' Ever yours, ui delighted haste, 

' flENltl H.' 

Of the ingenious atrocity of this 
mode of vengeance it is needless for 
us to say a word. 

Our next 7,ortrait is that of a 
drawing- rooni dog; and as every- 
body thinks bis own dog the best, 
the dearest, the most interesting in 
the world, M. Eniile Duuiont (cited 
by M. Eiclieuourg) shall present Ins 
favourite himself. 

Bianchino (the diminutive of the 
Italian word, bianco, * white ') is a 
Spitzberg dog, a race very largely 
kept in Enssia, which was intro- 
duced to Fiance at the time of the 
invasion — the only fault with which 
it can be reproached. In winter, 
Bianchino is a sbtggy lion ; in sum- 
mer, he is !-horn close, p(ji)dIo 
fashion: he is then the drollest- 
looking creature in the world. 
Brought up and educated by Cap- 
tain F , a retired cavalry officer, 

lie is consequently subjected to 
strict military discipline. Any in- 
fraction of the rules is followed by 
punishment, 
i ' Ah, Bianchino ! you have com- 
mitted a fault,' is said to. him m 
such a case. ' Go to prison, sir. 
Consider yourself arrested for one, 
two, or three days.' 

At this Older Bianchino droops 
his head, tucks his tail between his 
legs, and walks off to one of the 
corners of the room. There he 
stands on his hind legs, up against 
the wall, with bis back turned to 
the company, and remains there 
until set at liberty; that is, until his 
master has counted, with intervals 
of silence more or less long, 'one,' 
* two,' or ' three,' according to the 
gravity of the offence. 

Bianchino is very fond of the cap- 
tain's horse. He frequently visits 
him in the stable, which is shared 
with another horse belonging to a 
friend. These horses are attended 
to by different grooms, and receive 
different rations of food. Now the 
companion horse is allowed carrots. 



which the captain's is not ; and the 
deprivation is especially tantalising, 
because the aromatic roots are piled 
within sight and smell in a corner 
of the stable. 

It was found that this heap 
diminished rapidly, more rapidly, 
indeed, than it fairly ought. By 
careful watching it was di.scovered 
that Bianchino was the author of 
the theft. lie thouglit it hard that 
his master's horse .'^liould not faro 
so well as the other did, so he pulled 
the carrots out of the heap one by 
one, and carried them to his friend, 
who munched them without scruple. 

Bianchino feigns dtath admirably. 
At a pretended sword-thrust or a 
pistol-shot, he falls to the ground, 
stretches himself out, and remains 
motionless until the bugle, like the 
trump of judgment, sounds his re- 
surrection, and givLS the signal for 
resuming his frolics. This, however, 
is only a souvenir of what ho wit- 
nessed on the field of battle; for, 
after serving in the army, he retired 
on half- pay at the same time as the 
captain did. 

Bianchino dances and waltzes to 
perfection. At the word of com- 
mand, rising on his hind legs, he 
follows the evolutions of his master's 
hand, which is provided withalump 
of sugar. He circles round the 
room, revolving on his own axis, and 
keeping time to music when played 
to him, after which he is rewarded 
with the sugar. If, however, it is 
offered to him with the left hand he 
draws back with offended dignity; 
but as soon as the morsel is made 
to change hands he seizes it at once, 
and makes quick work of it. 

In society we are sometimes 
troubled with visitors who to their 
other infirmities add the bad habit 
of leaving doors open behind them. 
On such occasions Bianchino rushes 
at the door, and does not rest until 
the bolt has caught the staple. 

Bianchino has also had his fabu- 
lous adventures. He wmt to school, 
it seems, like you and me. The 
myth originated tlms : He had gone 
through his performances before 
a numerous audience. The children 
of the party laughed till they cried. 
A curly-headed rogue went up to 
Captain F., and asked, ' Was it 



40 



Canine Celebritieg. 



you, Monsieur, who taught him all 
this?' 

'Oh dear no! 'twas his school- 
master.' Then, addressing the ju- 
veniles collectively, he added, ' You 
eee, my young tViends, the result of 
good conduct and ])erseverance. 
While still a puppy, Bianchino car- 
ried off all the prizes at the iJogs' 
Academy. Now that his education 
is complete, instead of being a pupil 
he has ber'oiiie a teacher.' 

The children, mystified, opened 
their e\ es. 

' Uv. now gives lessons,' continued 
Captain F. 

' Does he charge dear for them ?' 
«ne of the young folk inquired. 

' That depends ; Biauchino has 
his fjivouiites.' 

Upon which the child, turning 
to his father, said, ' Oh, papa, it 
would be so nice if you would let 
him give my dog Blacko some les- 
sons." 

In spite of all which brilliant suc- 
cess, Bianchino's existence was not 
nnclouded. He had a rival — a rival 
preferred to himself, who put his 
nose quite out of joint. One day 
there came to town a little new- 
born balie. Great was the joy of 
the delighted parents. The days 
were not long enough to fondle the 
child in ; the dog was neglected and 
pushed aside. He growled inwardly 
!iis he crouched beneath the cradle. 
He wept, he groaned, he ground his 
teeth at the sight of the caresses 
lavished on Jiaby. But when he 
'^ ' 1^^ tlioirffaiit toddling from chair 
^ to chair, when the smiling infant 
threw his arms round his neck, all 
aversiou and jealousy disappeared. 
No longer regarding him as a rival, 
he patronized bim as a protege. He 
rolled with him over and over on 
the carpet; he allowed his hair and 
his ear- to be pulled; and on high 
days and holidays even acted as 
hobby-horse, maintaining all the 
while a certain air of suiieriority. 

Biancliiuo has his place in the 
family circle, and his ))hotograph 
figures in the family album. One 
day, when the boy was sitting for 
his portrait, the dog came and lay 
down at his feet. It is a charming 
group, all the better for being per- 
fectly natural and unaffected. 



There are dogs who are almost 
public characters. Toto, for in- 
stance, a white poodle of the purest 
breed, belonged to a Paiisian cafe- 
keeper. As neat in person as lively 
in temper, he was the favourite not 
only of the master and his men but 
of all the customers who frequented 
the establishment. But besides his 
mere external graces the poodle ren- 
dered important service by perform- 
ing errands entrusted to him. Every 
morning, carrying the basket in his 
mouth, he went to fetch the rolls at 
the baker's. He would make five oi 
six journeys, if necessary, not only 
without the slightest complaint, but 
also with the strictest integrity. 
True, Toto fared sumptuously every 
day, but the rolls he carried were 
very tempting. 

One moining, as usual, Toto de- 
livered the basket of rolls to his 
mistress. She counted them: one 
was missing. The idea of suspect- 
ing Toto's honesty never once en- 
tered her head. She said to herself, 
' The baker has made a mistake.' A 
waiter was sent to mention the cir- 
cumstance. ' It is possible,' said the 
baker, giving the man a roll to make 
up for the one deficient. ' I did not 
count them my.self; but you may 
tell your mistress that we will see 
that all is right to-morrow.' 

The next day there was again a « 
roll too. few. Again they went to 
the baker's to complain. 

'I counted the rolls into the basket 
myself,' he s tid, rather angrily ; ' so 
I am sure they were right. If your 
poodle is a glutton it is not my 
fault.' 

This speech plainly accused Toto 
of theft; and appearances, unfor- 
tunately, were much against him. 
Nevertheless his mistress persisted 
in expressing her doubts, so con- 
vinced did she feel of Toto's inno- 
cence. She decided, however, to 
have him secretly followed, in order 
to catch him in the fact if really 
guilty. 

The next day a waiter, placed in 
ambuscade, saw hiiu go to the 
baker's, and leave it with his basket 
full. Then, instead of taking the 
direct road home, he turned off by 
a side-street. The waiter, curious to 
learn the meaning of this manoeuvre, 



Canine Celebrities. 



41 



watched him into a courtyard, where 
he stopped before a staUle-door 
which had a loophole at the bottom, 
to allow cats to go iu and out. The 
waiter thcu t-aw him set the basket 
dowu, gently take out a roll, and 
present it at the cat-hole, where 
another dog's mouth instantly re- 
ceived it, as if an animal imprisoned 
there were awaiting its accustomed 
pittance. Tiiat done, Toto took up 
his basket, and trotted off home as 
fast as he could. 

The waiter, on questioning the 
portress, was informed that in the 
stable there was a bitch who had 
littered only three days ago; and it 
was exactly for the la>t three days 
that the number of rolls brought 
home was short by one. 

On returning he related to his 
mistress and tlie customers present 
what he had f^een and what tlie 
portress bad told him. 

'Capital!' exclaimed the lady. 
' Bravo, Toto ! Good dog ! Our 
hearts would be considerably harder 
than yours if we treated such con- 
duct as a crime.' She consequently 
ordered that Toto should have full 
liberty of action in the disposal of 
the rolls. 

Toto, therefore, using his dis- 
cretion, continued for a certain time 
the same allowance to the lady in 
# the straw; and then, wlien she be- 
gan to wean her pups, he hanestly 
brought home, as heretofore, the 
exact number of rolls delivered to 
him by the baker. 

Our next dog answers to the name 
of Diamond; not the Diamond 
whose destruction of matheiuatiial 
papers, so calmly borne by the phi- 
losopher Newton, is an instance of 
canine carelessnes-s, but a far better 
dog, though of minor celebrity, who 
has been saved from oblivion by 
]\J. Pliilibert Audebrand. 

' Viscount, you engaged me for 
the tiiifd quadrille,' said the Mar- 
quise de Servay, a rich young widow 
who was giving her first ball after 
thi-owing off her weeds. 

' I cannot deny it, Madame,' re- 
plied the Viscount de la Chattiigue- 
raie, a handsome young man, with 
but scanty resources besides a small 
estate in the Nivernais and an al- 



lowance made him by his uncle, 
the Archbishop of Bordeaux. The 
world, however, gave him credit for 
a good chance of obtaining the 
widow's hand. 

' When tlie band commenced I 
looked out for you ; but you allowed 
me to sit here without coming to 
fetch me.' 

' Madame, I cannot deny the 
fact.' 

' The truth is. Viscount, that you 
like the card- table better than the 
ball room; you pre'er the Queen of 
Clul)S and the rest of her sisters 
to keeping your engagement with 
me.' 

' I assure you, Madame ' 

' It is quite useless your protest- 
ing to the contrary after acting thus. 
I am sorry that such should be the 
case; but wretched is the woman 
who is foolish enough to set her 
heart upon a gambler. You deserve 
to be punished, and you shall be, I 
promi^e you.' 

' At least, Madame, I should like 
to know the nature of my punish- 
ment.' 

'Well, sir, it is simply this: I 
will save you one of my bitch's 
puppies.' And with a curtsey she left 
him to join her other gnest.s. 

At the present day such a speech 
would .'■ound vulgar, nay coarse, in 
a lady's mouth; but in 1782, and 
at Bourges, the capital of the pro- 
vince of Berri, it was merely a pro- 
verbial saying, expressing, in excel- 
lent though old-lashioned French, 
'I will have my revenge.' During 
the rest of the evening, seeing that 
his hostess kej^t him at a distance, 
he could not but acknowledge the 
gravity of his offence, and appre- 
hend the vengeance — a woman's 
vengeance — with which he had been 
deservedly threatened. 

Nevertlieless, a month elapsed 
without the occurrence of any un- 
pleasant circumstance. La ChS.- 
taigneraie, believing that the Mar- 
quise bore no more malice than he 
did himself, supposed that his fault 
was forgiven or forgotten. He had 
come, however, to too hasty a con- 
clusion. One January evening, on 
his return from shooting, Fridolin, 
his valet, handed him the following 
letter : — 



42 



Canine CdebrUies. 



' Dear Viscount, 

' A promise is as binding as a writ- 
ten engagement. An honest Marquise 
must keep her word. I said I would 
save you one of my bitch's puppies. 
You will receive it a few minutes 
after the delivery of this. Oblige 
me by giving him the name of Dia- 
mond, which his ancestors have 
borne with unblemished honour. 

' Yours, willi sincere compliments, 
' The Marquise de Servay.' 

La Chfitaigneraie had scarL-ely 
finished reading the note when a 
servant entered and pi-esented him 
with a basket, in which he found a 
little greyhound pup. He began to 
swear, feeling himself humiliated 
and a laughing-stock. The joke, he 
thought, had been carried too far. 
The creature was weakly and any- 
thing but handsome ; so he told his 
man to tie a stone to its neck, and 
drown it in the Loire. 

'Poor thing,' said Fridolin. 'It 
is not its iault if Madame amuses 
herself at your expense. Let mo 
keep it, Monsieur, and bring it up. 
I will undertake all the trouble ray- 
self.' 

' Do as you please. If Madame 
de Servay were but a man! or if 
she only had a brother to answer 
for her impertinence!' 

This jeer in action galled him 
deeply. Instead of regarding it as 
a good-natured mystification, he 
considered it meant as a proof of 
disdain. He could not drive it out 
of his mind ; and having heard that 
India was the real Eldorado, he re- 
solved to solicit the king for a com- 
mission, and seek his fortune at Pon- 
dicherry. 

' Since my suit is repulsed thus 
scornfully,' he said, 'I will console 
myself by acquiring wealth.' 

A fortnight afterwards he sailed 
from Marseilles on board the brig 
' Duquesne,' bound for the Carnatic. 

When the Marquise de Servay 
heard of his departure, she, in turn, 
felt exceedingly vexed. 

* What nonsense has he taken into 
his head,' she exclaimed, ' to treat 
seriously in this way a mere piece 
of harmless pleasantry ? I was fond 
of him, and was quite prepared to 
let him see it.' 



' Ah, Madame !' said a lady in her 
confidence, ' there are three things 
you should never play with — the 
fire, your eyes, and your affections.' 

La Chaiaigneraie was absent a 
couple of years. He fulfilled the 
mission intrusted to him with great 
credit to himself. Some English 
prizes (vessels captured at fea) in 
which he had a share brought him 
in two hundred thuu.'-and francs, 
at that time a considerable sum. 
Then there was his allowance of two 
thousand crowns a year from the 
Archbif-hop of Bordeaux, besides his 
claim on the ro\ al treasury for his 
services at Pondieherry ; so that he 
was quite iu a position to return to 
Europe. 

He did return, at the beginning 
of the year 1785, first to Paris, then 
to Bourges. At any epoch two years 
are a considerable lapse of time; 
under the aiicien rei/ime they were 
especially so. Nothing is stable 
here below ; and the Nivirnais noble- 
man found many things changed. 
On presenting himself at one of 
Madame la Presidente de Morlieu's 
receptions he heard the news of the 
neighbourhood. Amongst other 
things he learned that the pretty 
Marquise de Servay, tired of waiting, 
and uncertain whether he would 
ever come back, had taktn to herself 
one Maurice d'Esgriguy, a sort of % 
small iJaron in the Sulogne, as a 
second husband some six months 
ago, her choice having been guided, 
gossips said, by his intrepidity as a 
dancer. 

La Chfitaigneraie therefore retired 
to his Nivernais home. Alter Fri- 
dolin, still his only attendant, the 
first creature who came to meet him 
was a rough-coated greyhound, a 
sort of lurcher, with bloodshot eyes, 
and of not at all a prepossessing ap- 
pearance; but he wagged his tail 
to beg for favour, and licked his 
master's hand in token of affection. 

" Ah ! I recollect you, ugly brute. 
You are a reminder of my late mis- 
hap,' said the Viscount, lashing him 
with his riding- whip. ' Go to the 
devil !' 

With a plaintive cry the animal 
turned round, and ciawled back on 
his belly to his masters ilet. 

'If 1 might be allowed to speak,' 



1 



Canine Celebrities. 



43 



said Fridolin, 'I would eay a few 
words in Diamond's favour.' 

'Yes, I remember; Diamond is 
his name.' 

' Monsieur doubtless has not for- 
gotten that lie gave mo permission 
to bring up the pup. I did so, and 
have had no reason to repent of it.' 

' What is he good for V 

'With Tnuiieau's (your old 
keeper's) help, I have made him the 
best dog in the neighbourhood. He 
always has his wits about him. Ho 
is first-rate in unearthing a fox, start- 
ing a roe-deer, and driving a boar. 
Diamond's courage is extraordinary ; 
he is afraid of nothing, and has teeth 
of iron. Last winter, when the 
ground was covered with snow, he 
fought with and strangled in less 
than five minutes a wolf that had 
lorced its way into the courtyard. 
As a trophy I cut off his feet and 
head, and nailed them to the stable- 
door. What does Monsieur think of 
these?' 

At the sight La Chataigneraie 
could not restrain a smile of appro- 
bation. ' As you give him such 
excellent testimonials,' he said, 'I 
have no wish to bear malice any 
longer. There, Diamond, let us 
make it up,' he added, patting the 
dog's head, and nothing further 
passed in the matter for a time. 

Some days afterwards the Vis- 
count went out shooting, taking with 
him the once despised dog. On his 
way back he said to himself, ' Fri- 
dolin is right; there cannot be a 
better sporting dog. The Marquise, 
without intending it, has made me 
a very valuable present.' 

Before the week was out La Chd- 
taigneraie had taken the dog com- 
pletely into favour. When the crea- 
ture came to caress and be caressed, 
he would say, ' Good Diamond ! 
You are the best friend I have , for 
you love me in spite of my injustice. 
I'm sure you would defend me at 
the risk of your life ;' and then the 
dog would bark his assent. 

A year afterwards, in the depth of 
winter, the Viscount, going frcnn 
Nevers to Avallon, entered, towards 
the close of day, a woody defile of 
the Morvan, a hilly country of bad 
repute. He skirted the forest called 
the Tremblaye. It was an act either 



of foolisli imprudence or of very de- 
termined resolution ; for the neigh- 
bourhood was notorious for the mur- 
ders that were almost daily com- 
mitted there. On so rough and ill- 
conditioned a road ho could not 
hope to escape an attack by flight, 
however powerful bis horse njight 
be. On the other hand, neither the 
pistols lie carried nor the raw-boned 
lurcher which ran before him were 
a sufiBcient protection against the 
bands of robbers which then infested 
the east of France. 

Moreover, the Viscount, still fond 
of play, had lately lost ten thousand 
francs on his parole, and was now 
loyally taking it in gold to the win- 
ner. Without manifesting appre- 
hension, he nevertheless urged his 
liorse to do his best. ' Patience, 
Acajou 1' he said. ' You'll soon get 
plenty of oats and hay. Courage, 
good Diamond! Don't you smell 
your sui^per ?' 

His first intention had been not to 
halt before reaching one of Ihe in- 
termediate towns between Nevers 
and Avallon ; but as he felt himself 
oppressed by drowsiness, he changed 
his plan and hastened his pace, in 
order to sleep at the Tete-Noire, an 
inn situated in the middle of the 
wood. He reached it before very 
long. Finding the door shut he 
knocked for admission. 

Strangely etjough, although the 
house seemed in a bujtle, to judge 
from the voices and the lights which 
flashed about in the upper story, he 
got no answer. The door remained 
closed. 

'Are you all deaf?' he shouted, 
knocking louder. ' Can't you hear 
there is some one come to pass the 
night?' 

After a wliile a window opened. 
'Who is there?' inquired the inn- 
keeper, with feigned surprise. 

' It's me. Master Pennetier, the 
Viscountde la Chataigneraie. I have 
already told you 1 want a night's 
lodging.' 

' A hearty welcome to you. Mon- 
sieur le Vicomte. Jeanne! George! 
Why don't you run downstairs and 
open the door to let the worthy 
gentleman in ? You seem as if you 
meant to keep him waiting outside 
all night long.' 



V* 



Canine Gelehrities. 



Admitted at last, the Viscount 
could uot help expressing his asto- 
nishment. ' Master Pennetier, you 
must be hard of hearing to-day* I 
knocked at the door at least ten 
minutes, and yet you were not abed 
and asleep. What the deuce were 
you so busy about up.^-tairs there ?' 

The man forced a giiu, and stam- 
mered, ' We were biL-y about 

all sorts of things. There is so 
much to do in an out-of-the-way inn 
like this. Jeanne, iinstrap that 
knapsack from the saddle; and you, 
George, take Monsieur's horse to the 
stable. Give him all the corn he 
likes to eat.' 

The maidservant, to show her 
obedience t) orders, not only took 
the knapsack indoors, but began to 
open it and esaiuine its contents, 
as if arranging tliem for the tra- 
veller's use. 

'Stop a minute! not quite so 
fast!' said the Viscount. 'Ill do 
that myself, when I want it.' Then 
imprudently adding, 'Tiiere's gold 
enough there to marry off the ugliest 
girl in Moivau; and you are too 
pretty to stand in need of that.' 

Jeanne opened wide her little 
black eyes, and so did Master Pen- 
netier his squinting grey ones. 

' Yes,' continued La Chataigneraie, 
with the boastful rashntss habitual 
to the gentlemen of that day, 'my 
knapsack is heavy: you will there- 
fore be good enough to let me have 
a room that is secure against intru- 
sion.' 

•The most secure in the Tete- 
Noire, Monsieur le Vicomte; al- 
though, as for that, all rooms are 
safe in an honest man's house. 
George, get the chamber on the first 
floor ready.' And as George seemed 
to hesitate, he added, ' Be off with 
you quickly ! Do you think I don't 
know what suits my customers? 
And you, Jeanne, give Monsieur his 
suf)per.' 

They set before him, regretting 
they had no more, a leg of mutton, 
some salad, dried fruits and cheese 
for dessert, with a bottle of excellent 
Sancerre wine. La Chataigneraie 
ate heartily, declaring there was 
quite enough for him and for Dia- 
mond too. It was ten o'clock by 
his Geneva watch when he rose from 



table and retired to his bedroom. 
As he entered he deposited the 
knapsack iu a corner; Diamond 
went and lay down upon it. 

' Just to, good fellow ; keep guard 
there.' Casting a glance round the 
room, he ob.served to him?elf, 'The 
look of the place is not inviting; 
but for one night it <loes not matter 
much.' He then undressed and got 
into bed. 

Under the influence of fatigue he 
was about to blow out the candle 
and fall asleep, wlien he noticed that 
the dog had suddenly left his post, 
walking round the bed and sniffing 
under it in a singular way. 

'What can this mean?' La Cha- 
taigneraie thought. He rose, and 
felt under the bed, to ascertain the 
cause. He shuddered involuntarily 
as his hand touched a human foot— 
a cold and naked human foot. 

During his stay in India he had 
witnessed, in the character both of 
actor and spectator, not a few inci- 
dents of a startling nature, but he 
had never met with anything so 
horrible as this. Doubting whether 
he were not iu a dream or the victim 
of some frightful hallucination, he 
took the candle and looked under 
the bed. It showed him that he 
was under no delusion. There lay 
a corpse— the dead body of a man ! 

Diamcmd looked into his master s 
eyes, as if to ask what he should do 
— bark an alarm or hold his peace. 

'Hush! keep quiet!' whisijered 
the Viscount, at the same time, 
making anefifort on himself, he drew 
the body into the middle of the room. 
La Chataigneraie was really brave 
when he knew the adversary with 
whom he had to deal. But what 
was this mysterious piece of villany ? 
How was he to defend himself in 
the dead of the night, alone, iu an 
isolated inn? Either the matter 
was inexplicable, or he was com- 
pelled to conclude that the people 
of the house had committed mur- 
der, and that the same fate was re- 
served for him. He took counsel 
with himself what to do, what to 
decide on in such a situation. Flight 
was impossible; besides, the Vis- 
count was one of those men who 
never flee. 
He dressed himself again. 



Canine Celebrities. 



' But how cat! I tell,' he thought, 
' tliat there are not ten or a dozen 
ouMliroats assembled in this den? 
In that case, liow can I avoid falling 
into their clutclies? They may 
comedown npon me at any moment. 
Theri^ is no time to lose.' 

Sunimoning all his presi n(^e of 
mind, bo made Diamond go l);ick to 
the kmipsack an*! lie down up >n it. 
Searching round the room, ho dis- 
covered a secret door in tlie alcove 
which contained the bed. He con- 
ch;ded that that was how the mur- 
derers entered in order to commit 
their crimes, in which cnseit would 
be unwise to bar it. lie therefore 
put the body into the l)ed at exactly 
the place he would have occupied 
himself; then he extinguished the 
light, and, armed with his pistols, 
crept under the bed, lying down on 
the spot whence he had drawn the 
body. 

There he waited, listening atten- 
tively. For an hovir he saw nothing 
but Diamond's eyes, which shone 
like a couple of burning coals. But 
very soon after one in the morning 
he heard the jjaper which lined the 
alcove creak ; the secret door slowly 
opened, and in the inidi-t of the 
darkness a man leaned stealthily 
forwards over tlie bed and stabbed 
the body afresh, repeating his blows 
several times. 

' I must have done his business!' 
the assassin muttered. 

Hardly had the words escaped his 
lips when Diamond* rushed at him, 
and with his powerful teeth tore his 
cheek. 

* The devil take you !' the mur- 
derer growled. ' As soon as it is 
Ught I will serve you as I have 
served your master.' The door then 
closed and all was silent. 

At cock-crow La Chataigneraie 
crept out of his hiding-place, with 
the full di'tei'mination of quitting 
the houKo by some means or other. 
At dayl)reak he heard the sound of 
wheels ; they were carriers' carts, 
whose drivers halted for their morn- 
ing dram. 

'Now is our time. Diamond,' 
whispered La Chataigneraie, taking 
his knapsack and btalking down- 
stairs, making all the noi.se he could. 

'Saddle my horse instantly,' he 



said to the astonished innkeeper, 
whose face was tied up in a land- 
kerchifcf. And he set oft' on his 
journey without bidding his crest- 
fallen host farewell. 

That very evening the officers of 
justice came and searched tlie Tete- 
Noire inn. Penuetier and his ac- 
complices were sent for trial before 
the Criminal Court of Dijon. As 
the innkeeper persisted in denying 
many of the facts of which he was 
accused, the Viscount, remembering 
the legendary story of the Dog of 
Moutiirgis, said to the magistrate, 
' Next to myself, the principal wit- 
ness is my dog, Diamond, who set 
his mark upon the murderer's cheek. 
1 demand that he be brought into 
court.' 

The case was considered sutB- 
cieutly grave for this evidence to be 
rcgardetl in a serious light. Wht n 
Diamond was confronted witla t!ie 
prisoner, his eyes flashed fury, he 
showed his teeth, and if La Cha- 
taigneraie had not held him tijiht, 
he would have torn the innkeeper 
to pieces. 

That well-deserved punishment 
was only deferred. Master Penne- 
tier was condemned to death. Three 
months after the commission of the 
offence he was broken on the wheel, 
alive, in front of the palace of the 
Dukes of Burgundy. 

Diamond became the lion of the 
neighbourhood, and La Chataigne- 
raie grew more and more attached 
to the courageous creature who had 
so effectually helped him. 

' Monsieur le Vicomte,' said Fri- 
dolin one day, ' was 1 not right in 
begging you to let me keep the d^ 'gV 

The question painfully recalled 
Madame de Servay's joke, as well as 
what he was pleased to term her 
treachery. 

Meanwhile a storm was brewing, 
which threatened to sweep over not 
only all France but the whole of 
Europe. That storm was tue re- 
volution, with its triiin of horrors, 
its torrents of blood, and its aveng- 
ing thunderbolts. One of the first 
pitiless war-cries raised was, ' Down 
with the chateaux! spare the cot- 
tages !' 

La Chataigneraie, who dwelt in 
an unpretending old manor-house^. 



4& 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



■with a pepper-box tower for its sole 
fortification, listened to these me- 
naces without alarm. In the first 
place, because he was brave and 
capable of defending hitnself if at- 
tacked by a mob ; and secondly, 
because he was greatly beloved and 
did not know a single enemy. Al- 
most all his neighbours, however, 
were emigrating. Some, who were 
going to Germany to take up arms 
against the promoters of the Ee- 
public, urged him to follow their 
example. 

' No,' said the Visconnt, quietly 
but decidedly. ' I respect the feel- 
ings and the motives of those who 
think fit to enter a foreign service 
as the best way of assisting their 
king, but [ have no intention of 
doing as tliey do ; neither do I mean 
to remain at home, to be slaugh- 
tered like a slu ep one of the.se days.' 

'What will you do, then?' 



' I shall follow the advice of a 
young Breton officer whom I recently 
met in Paris.' 

' His name ?' 

' The Viscount Rene-Fran9ois de 
Chateaubriand. He recommended 
me to make a tour in the New 
World, and remain there till the 
tempt st shall have passed away. It 
is useless to fight with the elements 
let loose. When the storm is over 
I can return to France, and help to 
reconstruct the ruins of our country.' 

' Do you go alone ?' 

' Certainly not.' 

' Whom do you take with you?' 

' The best of friends.' 

The Viscount whistled. ' Here, 
Diamond. This way. Show your- 
self. The day after to-monow you 
and I, and Fridolin also, if he likes 
to come, will start for America, to 
avoid witne.>sing what threattns to 
occur at home.' 



THE PRIVATE LIFE OF A PUBLIC NUISANCE. 



IT is no uncommon thing with folks 
of an ingenious turn to make 
' capital,' as tlie saying is, out of 
what at first sight seems calamity. 
As, for instance, a friend of mine, an 
Alpine traveller, and an indefati- 
gable naturalist, whilst on a joiumey 
of exploration in his favourite moun- 
tainous region, one night retired to 
his couch exhausted by the fatigues 
of march and faint for sleep. It 
■was denied hirn, however. Not that 
' Nature's soft nurse ' was ill-dis- 
posed towards him ; not that his 
conscience was ill at ease ; not that 
he had supped rashly or inordinately. 
It was because he was wanted for 
supper. That ravenous monster, 
the Alpine flea, but meagrely fed 
through many months on hardy 
herdsmen and chamois hunters, 
sniffed his tender carcase, and with- 
out even the warning of ' fe-fo-fi- 
fum,' fell on him from the roof 
rafters, and commenced his savage 
and sanguinary repast. A man of 
common mind and courage would 



have engaged the enemy until ex- 
hausted, and then yielded at discre- 
tion. Not so my friend. He struck 
a light, and calculating his chances 
of a night's rest, and finding the 
balance heavily against him, he 
coolly dressed him.self, and unpack- 
ing his microscopical instruments, 
selected and impaled a few of the 
largest and finest of his tormentors, 
and passed a ])leasantand profitable 
night in investigating the peculiari- 
ties of the form and structure of 
jnikx irritanfi. There is no knowing 
how much of ingenuity dwells in 
the human brain till it is pressed 
between the hard mill-stones of ne- 
cessity. Before now, despairing 
captives have beguiled the tedium 
of dungeon life by a study of the 
habits and manners of the very rats 
which at first were so much their 
horror and aversion. 

I have an enemy more tormenting 
than any flea that ever hopped — 
more voracious than the rat, inas- 
much as he feeds not on my bread 



The Prloate Life of a Public Nuisance. 



47 



and my cliccve, but on my brain. I 
have little moutlis to fill, and little 
leet to cover, and little backs to 
clotlie; I liave honse-rcnt to pay, 
and water-rate ; I Iiave to contribute 
shillings and pounds towards the 
maintenance of the poor, and the 
police, and tlie main drainage ; I 
have to provide against the visit of 
the income-tax collector; and to 
meet these various demands, being a 
scribbler o. the liard- working sort, I 
am compelled to set my pen dancing 
over the pajier with considerable 
rapidity and perseverance. And 1 
am very willing to do so. I am 
willing to sit down in the morning 
early as any tailor or cobbler, and 
make my hay while the sun shines. 
But this my tormentor forbids. He, 
too, has hay to make while the sun 
shines. He makes his hay out of 
my green hopes, sapped and 
withered ; he grinds my brain to 
make him bread. He bestrides my 
sober pen, all sudden and unexpected, 
as it is plodding industriously over 
the paper, and sets it jigging to the 
tune of ' Hop Light Loo ' or the 
'Ratcatcher's Daughter.' He fills 
the patient, well-intentioned quill 
with the jingling idiotcy common in 
the mouths of banjo-playing, bone- 
rattling Sambos and Mumbos, and 
turns the common sense about to be 
Tittered by it into twaddle and pro- 
fitless nonsense. He breaks into my 
storehouse of thought and turns its 
contents topsy-tn.rvy. He seizes my 
golden hours, and condemns them to 
a lingering and horrible death, maul- 
ing them and pulling them into 
flinders, and leaving me to make the 
best I may of the few minutes his 
monkey mischief lias left entire. 
The name of this blowfly in my 
larder, tiiis weevil in my meal-jar, is 
Organ Grinder. 

It is, of course, well known to me 
that, in accordance with a recent Act 
of Parliament, I am at liberty to set 
the engine of law in motion to crush 
ihe organ man if he annoys me ; but 
there is a power much greater than 
any Act of Parliament ever passed 
and backed by it. My tormentor 
may grin defiance at his arch- 
enemy, Bass. No less true than 
paradoxical, the superior power in 
question consists in a weakness — the 



weakness inherent in every free-bom 
Englishman, to succour all such as 
he may find downtrodden and driven 
to the wall. 117/?/ downtrodden is 
a question which the noble-minded 
Briton never .stops to inquire. It is 
enough tliat a pijor fellow is down, 
to enlist for him the Briton's heartiest 
sympatliies. Never mind how richly 
he may have merited the shoulder 
hit that laid him low, he has only to 
groan plaintively as he lies in the 
mire — to whine a little, and beseech 
pity, and a hundred hands are 
stretched forth to lift him up, and a 
hundred mouths are opened to cry 
' Poor fellow !' There is ointment 
for his bruises in shape of a gather- 
ing of money, and he is set on his 
legs and hailed as a man and a bro- 
ther. Who did it? A i^arcel of 
stuck-up, purse-proud, bloated aris- 
tocrats ! Why don't you hit one 
your own size ? Hit him again, if 
you dare. This noble setliment 
has been of immense service to the 
downtrodden organ grinder. The 
law, acting in behalf of 0. G.'s suf- 
fering victims, having knocked 0. G. 
down, the highminded but tough- 
skinned British mob has set him up 
again, and taken him under its 
special protection. I have no in- 
clination to dispute its right to do 
so. It admires organ grinding. To 
be sure, the fact of its utter indif- 
ference to the existence of barrel- 
organs and hurdy-gurdies before the 
passing of the Act is calculated to 
give rise to the suspicion that pig- 
headed obstinacy may have some- 
thing to do with it, but there is 
nothing for certain. The miller who 
could sleep tranquilly while his mill 
was clashing and crunching and 
rumbling, awoke the moment the 
mill stopped The mob is the best 
judge of what suits it. It likes its 
music full flavoured, and with 
plenty of grit in it. A weaker qua- 
lity falls idly on its tympanum. 
Some animals are so thin-skinned 
that the titillation of a hair will 
drive them to madness, whereas the 
rhinoceros delights to have his hide 
rasped with the prongs of a pitch- 
fork ; but that is no reason why the 
rhinoceros should not be tickled if 
he likes it. 
So it comes about that the organ 



4«' 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



grinder finds in the notice of eject- 
uient that was served ou him a new 
lease. But a few months since he 
was a skulking, surly wretch, with a 
heavy tread, a hanging head, and 
the genf ral air of a felon, hopeless as 
to this life, and by no means com- 
fortably assured of the next ; a broad- 
shouldered muscular, doomed for 
some monstrous iniquity to tramp 
the highways and byeways of a 
foreign land, fettered eternally to a 
demon of discord— a lunatic Orpheus 
riding him old-man-ot-the-sea-wise, 
torturing his sensitive ear, and 
mocking his weariness with ' funny ' 
music worthy of St. George's-in-the 
Fields, or, at the very least, of Earls- 
wood. A treacherous, lean dog, 
ready for a halfpenny to mow and 
grin and show his teeth to win the 
smiles of little children at the win- 
dow, and e(]ual]y ready, should he 
be rashly informed that the little 
ones are ill, to haggle and make 
terms as to his consenting to cease 
from racking their poor little 
beads with his horrible din; a worse 
than ghoule, hunting for sickness 
that he might make a meal of it, 
with vulture eyes for sadly droop- 
ing window-blinds and muffled 
knockers, and a keen scent for mer- 
cifully-strewn tan, that the wooden 
leg of his engine of torture may find 
standing in the midst of it. 

Distinguished by such unamiable 
characteristics, it was impossible to 
love the organ man; still, seeing 
him go about so evidently conscious 
of his own unworthiness, so down- 
cast and depressed, and altogether 
miserable, your indignation was not 
unfrequently tinctured with pity, 
and you had at least the gratification 
of noting that, however much he 
plagued and tormented you, he 
never appeared to get any satisfac- 
tion out of the transaction beyond 
the grudged penny flung to him. 
But since lie has been ' persecuted ' 
the aspect of the case has become 
altogether altered. The organ 
grinder is no longer a glum villain 
serving his term of life as though it 
were a punishment, and not a pri- 
vilege. The dull dead log has 
sprouted green leaves, and become 
quite a sprightly member of society. 
True, he has not given up the ghoule 



business, nor the lean dog businesf.. 
but now he is a ghoule in a cut- 
away coat in place of a shroud ; the 
lean dog cocks his ears, and carries 
his fail with an insolent and defiant 
cui'l in it. He is a man and a bro- 
ther in pursuit of his honest calling. 
He has music to vend in ha'iwrths 
and penn'orths ; and if you don't 
choose to buy, there are plenty of 
householders in yoursfreit that will. 
Don't put yourself out of the way, 
my dear sir; don't stand there at 
your parlour window sliaking your 
head, and frowning, and making 
threatening gestures ; he is not play- 
ing for i/oiir edification ; he is playing 
to the people next door but one ; 
they are his regular customers, and 
take a penn'orth of music of him 
every morning as regularly as they 
take a penn'orth of dog's meat for 
Mungo. A pretty thing, indeed, that 
you should i^resume to order him 
off just becaiise you don't happen to 
like music ! You might as reason- 
ably prohibit the dog's-uieat man 
from calling at number thirteen be- 
cause nobody on your premises has 
an appetite for dog's meat. This is 
the argument provided for the organ 
grinder by his noble chain])ions and 
supporters, and he is not slow to 
avail himself of it. How can you be 
out of temper with a poor fellow 
who knows not a word of the lan- 
guage in which you are abusing hiui, 
and therefore cannot retaliate? It 
is mean, it is cowardly, it is un- 
English. It would not be surprising 
if he turned round on you and pelted 
you with such broken bits of Eng- 
lish as he is master of. But he is a 
good-humoured fellow, and does 
nothing of the kind ; if you shake a 
stick at him, he replies by thrusting 
out his tongue, and making a tunny 
face at you. If you appear at your 
gate and order him off, he is moved 
to no worse than playfully ajiplying 
his thumb to the tip of his nose, and 
twiddling his outstretched fingers. 
Yah! Go in. Stuft'your ears with wool. 
It will be quite time enough for him to 
go when he sees you rushing down 
the street in search of a policeman. 
Even if you have the good luck to 
find one in time, and the coverage to 
give the ruffian into custody (winch 
means accompanying the ' charge ' 



The Private Life of a Piihlic Nuisance. 



i^ 



to the station-liouse, and being 
hooted and chaffed by the organ 
grinder's friend, the mob, all the 
way you go), you will probably find 
the game hardly Avorth the candle. 
The prisoner does not know one 
word of English, explains the inter- 
preter to the magistrate, and was 
quite unaware that the gentleman 
wished him to go away. But, says 
his worship, the gentleman states 
that he took the trouble to come out 
into his garden to motion you away. 
That is true, replies the interpreter, 
after referring his worship's remarks 
to the now deeply jDenitent grinder, 
but the prisoner misunderstood — 
he thought that the gentleman was 
come out to dance. 

It may occur to the inexperienced 
that all this is most unnecessary 
fuss, the remedy for the alleged 
grievance being so obvious. The 
organ grinder is no fool ; all he 
seeks is your penny, and cares not 
how little he does for it; what, 
therefore, can be easier tlian to save 
your time and your temper by 
sending him out so paltry a sum 
with the civil message that you 
won't trouble him to play. You 
may be making some sacrifice of 
principle, it may cause you momen- 
tary annoyance to suspect that your 
enemy grins as he turns from your 
gate with your penny in his pocket, 
but look on the other side of the 
question! The blow-fly banished 
from your larder, your meal -jar freed 
from the devouring weevil, your 
quill rescued from its impish rider, 
your golden hours round and sound 
and all your own ! 

You are right, oh innocent adviser ! 
Cheap, dirt cheap would it be if, on 
payment of a penny, immunity from 
persecution might be purchased. 
It would be a stroke of business on 
the accomplishment of which we 
might well be proud if one bought 
off the whole brigand army at a like 
figure. But beware of the pitfall ! 
Should you be weak enough to 
yield that first single penny your 
doom is sealed. It is merely a 
hushing fee entitling you to rank 
amongst the organ man's regular 
customers. The torturer will now 
regard himself as regularly engaged, 
and exactly a week from the time 



when you committed the fatal error, 
he will turn up again, his counte- 
nance beaming with a smile of recog- 
nition as you amazed ly look out on 
him from your window, and he won't 
budge until he gets his penny. Nor 
is this all. You are duly reported 
at the head-quarters of the sworn 
brotherhood of grinders as another 
to the long list of victims willing to 
pay for peace, and for the future no 
organ or liurdy-gurdy bearer will 
pass your door without giving you 
the opportunity for exercising your 
philanthropy. There is no cure for 
the evil ; organ-grinding has become 
a settled institution of tlie country, 
and as such must be endured. 

And having arrived at tliis con- 
viction comes in the example of the 
Alpine traveller quoted at the 
commencement of this paper — of 
the poor prisoner who beguiled the 
tedium of incarceration by an exa- 
mination of the habits and manners 
of the rats which at first were his 
horror. Might I not be i letter em- 
ployed than to sit moping in my 
chamber with vinegar raps adorning 
my throbbing temples because of 
these Itahan rats squealing under 
my window? Were their haliits and 
customs less interesting than tho?e 
of the^ four-legged vermin ? Did I 
know 'more about one than the 
other? Decidedly; but the advan- 
tage was with the quadrupedal 
animal. I do happen to know 
something about mus decumnnits. I 
know that its hind legs are longer 
than its front ones, that it has a 
propensity for burrowing under 
walls, and tliat it commonly sits on 
its hind legs and holds the food it 
eats in its fore paws. I know that 
its nature is very cunning; that, 
acting in concert, rats have been 
observed to cart off unbroken eggs 
from a basket, one, acting as ' cart,' 
lying on his back and cradling the 
egg between his fore paws, while two 
other rats, acting as teamster.«(, have 
dragged home the ' cart ' by its tail. 
I have heard, and place equal reli- 
ance in, the story of the rat that 
emptied a narrow flask of oil by 
lowering his caudal appendage into 
it, withdrawing it, licking it clean, 
lowering it again, and soon. But I 
don't know half as much about the 



/iO 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance, 



organ grin(ier. That his fore Umbs 
aro shorter than liis lateral may bo 
assumed, but what about his bur- 
rowing? Tliat ho dors burrow is 
certain, liei-ause during certain hours 
oftlio twenty-tour lie, happily, disap- 
pears. He must iiavo a homo some- 
where, lie is ni( t at all hours of 
tho (lay as far away as flighgato, 
Hanuuersinitli, and Sydenham, but 
come nif^iit wherever ho may be, ho is 
invariably lound to l)o turning his 
steps in a north- westeily direction. 
However far away, he is rarely seen 
refreshing hiuiseif at an inn ; ho was 
never yet known to apply lor a bed 
at the waysiilo country public- 
house. It is doubtful if he made 
such an application whether it would 
bo entertuiiud. Ifamanou horse- 
back applied for lodging the matter 
might 1)0 easily arranged, tho man 
to his chamber and tho horse to tho 
stable ; l)Ut a man with an organ ! 
They are insepara\»le. He is an 
organ man— a man with an organ 
on his back, as other unfortunates 
have a lump on theu'S — with tho 
difference that the former, for busi- 
ness purpo.ses, admits of being occa- 
sionally slewed round to the front 
part of the man's l)ody. Fancy 
letting a clean and decent lied to a 
man witli an organ on his back ! 

Then as to the grinder's family. 
Has he a wile and children ? How do 
they employ them.selves? Aro the 
white-mice boys and the guinea-pig 
boys, the monkey-boys and tho boys 
with the hnrdy-gur<lies the organ 
grinder's children ? Are those his 
daughters who go al)out with a silk 
nandkerchief about their heads, 
singing and placing on a tambou- 
rine? Where is his wife'r" Is she 
still to be found working in tho 
vineyards of the sunny Soutii, or 
does she reside with her ' old man ' 
on Saffnm Hill, occupying a siuig 
little ro(mi, ironing the grinder's 
shirts and mending his stockings and 
preparing something comforting and 
savoury lor the jxior ft How's supper, 
when at midnight he stumps in from 
Sydenham or JJrcutford? Does Mrs. 
Grinder over go out washing or 
charing to eke out her husband's 
earnings? What were his earnings? 
Did the little lJ!nn<Iers go to school ? 
Was it all work and no play with 



father Grinder? or did he occasion- 
ally take his pipe and his pint and 
seek diversion like another working 
man ? 

1 had frequently observed that 
the organ grinder coaseit from his 
persecution earlier on Saturday than 
all the other days of the week. On 
other evenings ho was to be 
heard as late as ten and even eleven 
o'clock ; but on Saturdays, even 
though you wanted an oigau-man, ii 
would be dilhcult indeed to find one 
after four or live o'clock in the after- 
noon. How was this? Was Satur- 
day evening an 'otl-time' with the 
grinder? Was he a patron ot the 
Saturday lialf holiday movement? 
Ifso, howdid ho prolit by tho in- 
dulgence ? Did he belong to some 
corjjs of volunteers? not likely. 
Did he make one of four for a quick 
pull up the river? He could not 
well accomplish such a feat without 
divesting himself of that peculiarly 
blue corderoy jacket of his ; and tho 
sight of an organ-man in his shirt 
sleeves is one that never yet mot 
human gaze. Did he take a cheap 
excursion ticket and go to the Isle 
ofWisihtorlMargate? What! with- 
out his organ? Preposterous. How 
did lie spend the only work-a-day 
evening ho could spare from 
drudgery ? The only way to set the 
question at rest was by personal in- 
vestigation. No time like the 
present, wtiich happened to be a 
Saturday afternoon. 

Putting on a slouchy coat and a 
sloucliy cap, I at once set out for 
Saffion Hill, making it my business 
to call on my road for an artist 
friend whoso sketches have often 
delighte 1 tho readers of this maga- 
zine. ]\iy pretence for desiring 
his company was that there was a 
proliability of his finding a picture 
worth sketching in some one of the 
many strange places I purposed 
tdving him to; but my main object 
in soliciting his company was that 
1 might be benefited by his pro- 
tection in tho event of my being 
forced into doubtful company — our 
aitist being a man of extraordinary 
size and muscular development. 

It was a loiu ly evening for such 
a wild-goose chaso as was ours — 
dark over head, miry under foot, 



TJie Private Life of a Puhlic Nuisance. 



61 



and drizs^lin? ^-retchcdly of rain. I 
call it ft wiltl-poosochnso, and it was 
little less, for linyond the populiirly- 
nccepttd bollLf lliat the home of the 
organ prindcr was ' somewlieie in 
the ntiglibourhood of Hatton 
Garden,' \\e wre la ntfer ignorance 
of tlio at'idiiig place of the individual 
of whom we were in search. Hatton 
Garden, as the reader is possibly 
sware, is a long and wide stnet 
opening from the crown of Hoi born 
Hill. 

At 7 p.m., the dnrlcness and the 
drizzling r.iin nothing abated, wo 
arrived at llatton (Jtrdcn, and dili- 
gently peranibulat<d that lengthy 
and retired street tVoni this end to 
the other, but either in or out of 
hamess not a solitary organ man 
(lid wo meet. I fay out of harness 
on my companion's account, not 
mine own ; he was quite sure, he 
paid, that he could detect an organ- 
man even though disguised in the 
garb of a Quaker. No opportunity, 
I owever, for a display of his extiaor- 
('inary sagacity occurred; and we 
i:i rived at the end of Hatton (ianlen 
ir 1(1 found ourselves at Hatton Wall, 
no wiser, as far as tlie object of our 
starch was concerned, than when we 
turned out of lIi)lborn. 

Hatton Wall is by no means a nice 
place for a stranger to find himself 
l)lindly groping about on a dark 
February night; indeed, making an 
allowance of f-ixty per cent, for time 
and wealth, I should be inclined to 
say it was one of the ugliest, if not 
the most ugly, spots in London. 
There may bo uglier. In one's pere- 
grinations round about Loudon 
you never kt-ow when you have ar- 
rived at the worst. I thonght I had 
done so when I first beheld Ncal's 
Buildings in Seven Dials, but was 
fain to acknowledge my error an an 
investigation of Brunswick Street, 
Ratcliffe Highway, and even this — 
the hideously-renowned Tiger Bay 
— must, as I afterwaids discovere(l, 
knock under to Little Keato Street, 
Whit(chapel. Yet it is hard to 
award the palm, the claim to the 
supremiicy of ugliness being based 
ca(;h on different grounds. Neal's 
Buildings is nothing worse than the 
stronghold of Irish squalor, and all 
manner of filthiness and rags and 



beggary. TIio women equat in 
groups on the squelchy pavement of 
Neal's Bnildinga on iiot summer 
diiys, airily garbed, and with a 
toothed instrument of horn sleek- 
ing their golden tresses, and smok- 
ing stmnpy pipes, and singing good 
old Irish songs, and holding cheerful 
converse with their male friends, 
eonie sprawled over the door thresh- 
holds, some Immging half out ol 
first and second floor windows, their 
shocks of fiery hair surmounted by 
a nightcap, and so full of gaping 
and J awning as to give rise to the 
suspicion that they are not yet 
entirely out of bed. Tiger Bny is 
less repulsive at first sight ; indeed, 
it is only when night closes in, and 
the women, turned wild beasts, leave 
their lairs to prowl abroad and hunt 
for sailors, and the born whelps and 
jackals and hyenas in man shape 
congregate and lurk in washhonses 
and coal-holes, ready to pounce 
out on and beat and worry nigh to 
death the hapless wretch the females 
of their tribe have lured to the com- 
mon den, that Brunswick- Street 
appears uglier than its neij-hltours. 
Little Keate Street, aj-'ain, taken as 
a street, is not particularly ill-look- 
ing; and the traveller might inno- 
cently enough take it as a promising 
short cut to eastern parts of the 
metropol is. Nevertheless it is a terri- 
ble street. It is from thence that the 
midnight burglar sallies with his 
little sack of ' tools' and his bits of 
wax candle and his luciler matches 
and his life-preserver. These, how- 
ever, are amongst the better sort of 
tenants inhabiting Keate Street — 
fellows who can pity their way 
handsomely, and being to a man 
liberal dogs— the stay of any poor 
wretch of their acquaintance who 
may stand in urgent need of assist- 
ance. Ask the shopkeepers of the 
neighbourhood — ask the butcher 
aufl the cheesemonger concerning 
his Keate Street customers! If they 
tell you as they told me when a year 
or so since it was my business to be 
making such inquiries, they will say 
that they live luxuriously. 'It's 
nothing, bless you,' said the butcher, 
' for them to order a quarter of lamb 
— and that when it's a shilling fi 
pound— as late as ten o'clock, to Ixj 



52 



The Pfivate Life of a Public Nuisance. 



cooked that nipht for suppr r. They 
like their nick-nacks too, and often 
my boy is running all over the town 
to get them sweetbreads for break- 
fast.' ' You'd think, to stand atop cif 
the street and take a view of it both 
sides of the way, right to the bottom, 
that they wouldn't trouble me much 
except it was for butter-scrapings and 
bacon hocks and that sort of thing,' 
said the cheesemonger; 'Lor' bless 
you ! It ain't single, no, nor yet 
double Glo'ster that'll do for 'em. 
It must be best Cheshire or none. 
Same with butter. Same with ham 
and eggs. The very best and never 
mind the price is their motto.' The 
ruffians of I<;eate Street, however, are 
not all of this superior order. The 
common pickpocket finds a home 
there, and the 'smasher,' and the 
area sneak, and the ' snow gatherer,' 
as the rascal who makes the thieving 
of linen his special study poetically 
styles himself ; and, worse than all, a 
swarai of likely young fellows who 
as yt;t cannot lay claim to be called 
robbers, but who are s-itisfactorily 
progre.ssing under the teaching of 
Moss Jacobs and Barney Davis. 
If roguery stands there would bono 
approaching Little Keate Street by 
a mile. 

I should not like to say that Hat- 
ton Wall was, in a Keate Street 
sense, as ugly as Keate Street. I 
have not such great enmity against 
the organ grinders as to wish that it 
might be. To look at, however, it 
is uglier: a horribly dark, dingy, 
antiquated place, all gutter and 
cobble-stones, and smelling as strong 
of Irish as Nual's Buildings itselE 
The police, as we observed, went in 
pairs; and when this is the case in 
a neighbourhood, you may mark it 
as one in which it would be unsafe 
to openly consult your gold lever in 
order to ascertain the time. 1 ven- 
tured the insinuation that perhaps 
we had better retrace our steps, and 
come again some other night — some 
moonlight night, but our artist, who 
is as brave as he is big, at once 
taunted me with cowardice, and de- 
clared that since I had drawn him 
into the mess he would see the end 
of it, even though he searched every 
nook and alley in the place; and 
immediately proceeded to carry out 



his valiant determination by inquir- 
ing of a little boy, that moment 
emerging from a scowling little 
public-house near Bleeding Hart 
Yard, hugging agin bottle, whether 
he would be so o'lliging as to inform 
us where the organ men were to be 
found. 

The little fellow replied that he 
was jiggered if he knew;— that they 
lived a'most anywhere about there, 
' down here, mostly, and over there ; 
and a good many up that there way, 
if you means their lodgings;' and he 
indicated ' down here ' and ' over 
there' by pointing with his gin- 
bottle, and in the same manner gave 
us to understand which was ' that 
there way,' which was not at all an 
inviting way, being more dismal 
than any we had yet traversed, 
narrow, miry, and flanked on either 
side by little-windowed houses, tall, 
dingy, and mysterious - looking 
enough to be haunted — or at least 
in Chancery. However, it was the 
organ man's ' lodgings " that we did 
mean, and so we manfully struck 
into the unclean crevice, known as 
Little Saffron Hill. 

But though we perambulated the 
dingy thoroughfare in the most 
careful manner, no organ man could 
we find either entering or emerging 
from his domicile. Once my com- 
panion thought that he descried the 
object of our pursuit ascending the 
steps of a distant house, and with a 
subdued exclamation of triumph ho 
started otf to see ; in a few seconds, 
however, he returned disconsolate to 
report the mistaken figure a woman 
with a clothes-basket. At that in- 
stant, however, and while we were 
at a standstill, the lively notes of a 
polka suddenly greeted our ears, 
and eagerly following the welcome 
sound, we presently arrived at the 
house from whence it proceeded. 
It was a private house, quite an 
ordinary-looking habitation, with 
the same closed shutters and dingy 
door as the rest, and no more than 
the average amount of light glim- 
mering through the chinks, to be- 
speak it a place of amusement. 
Still, however, as we stood and list- 
ened on the steps of the house, we 
were convinced that it must be. 
The polka ceased, and was instantly 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



53 



followed by a jig in the same lively 
measure ; moreover there was the 
lium of many voices, and the sounds 
of the shuffling of feet. 

' It is a threepenny hop,— there 
can't be a doubt of it,' said we ; and 
feeling in our pocket for the neces- 
sary entrance-money, we boldly 
pushed open the door and entered. 

The passage was dark, but at the 
end of it there was a door of a room, 
in which there was evidently plenty 
of light, and in wliicli, as we could 
now plainly make out, the music 
and dancing was. Without a mo- 
ment's hesitation we stepped up to 
this door, as to the first, and pushed 
it open. 

Our expectations, however, were 
not exactly realized. In an instant 
we found ourselves, not in a dancing- 
rooiu but in a workshop— an esta- 
blishment for the mauulactnre and 
repair of street organs. It was a 
small place, no bigger, probably, 
than an ordinary dining-room, but 
it was cliokeiul of organs, old and 
new, — stacked against the walls, on 
the floor, and on work-benches. 
Eight or ten bare-armed, bearded 
Italians were busy, patching, and 
polishing, and tinkering at the in- 
struments. The jig tune that had 
attracted us was still proceeding as 
we entered, the organ from which it 
was produced standing on the 
gi'ound, and the ijerformer kneeling 
bef(n'e it gravely grinding at the 
handle. It was the property, as it 
seemed, of an unmistakeable sti'eet 
grinder, who stood by, watching the 
music doctor as he examined the 
ailing organ, with as anxious and 
distressed a countenance as though 
it were nothing less precious than 
his eldest born brought to. be tested 
on account of some suspected intes- 
tinal disorder. 

Patchers, polishers, tinkers — even 
the man that was grinding the jig — 
paused in their various occupations 
and regarded us inquiringly. The 
situation was embarrassing, the more 
so that the door had slammed to, 
and we were shut in, and we la- 
boured under the disadvantage of 
not knowing a word of the Italian 
tongue. 

* Vat you bisniss ?' demanded the 
fctreet grinder, presuming on his 



knowledge of our language to be 
spokesman. 

We had no business — none, at 
least, that could be explained in an 
olt hand and satisfactory manner. 
My companion attempted the expla- 
nation, however. 

' It's all right,' said he, with an 
insinuating little laugh — * it's a little 
mistake — we thought there was 
something going on — don't mind us.' 

The organ grinder merely replied, 
' Aha !' as far as we could make out ; 
but, turning to the workmen, the 
traitorous villain must have alto- 
gether misinterpreted to them my 
companion's observation, for they 
rose, with warlike gestures and 
ejaculations, and turned as one man 
against us, — luckily, however, with 
so much noise that the proprietor of 
the premises, who was engaged in 
an adjoining apartment, was dis- 
turbed, and came hurriedly in to see 
what the row was about. He was a 
civil fellow, and listened with polite 
attention to what we had to say. 
His knowledge of English, however, 
could scarcely have been so ' per- 
fect ' as, at starting, he assured us 
it was ; that is, judgmg from his 
answers. 

' Oh yes ! what you say is exact, 
gentlemen ; but you cannot dance 
here for threepence or for any 
money. If you will dance, you 
must go to Biidessa, or to Sugar 
Loaf, or to Golden Anchor. Good 
evening, gentlemen.' And he showed 
us to the door. 

Although this little adventure 
couid not be said to be in all re- 
spects gratifying, it was so in the 
main, inasmuch as it provided us 
with a clue. Clearly the places 
enumerated by the worthy organ 
builder were places of public enter- 
tainment — places where dancing Was 
encouraged. Where was the Golden 
Anchor? Opportunely there came 
by a policeman. 

' Keep straight on and cross the 
road, and it's the second public on 
the left.' 

'It is a place where organ men 
assemble for their amusement, is it 
not?' 

' You'll precious soon find the sort 
of place it is before you get within 
a dozen yards of it,' rephed the po- 



54 



Tlie Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



Uceman. And so directed we odco 
mere stepped out through the mire 
and the drizzling rain, with hope 
revived. 

Since we paid a visit to the Golden 
Anchor, that hostel has earned for 
itself a hideous notoriety. Murder 
tias been done there. At least that 
is hcnv the law, misled by police 
pig-hcadedness and the reckle^^s 
oath-taking of false witnesses, at 
first called it ; but now, as it appears, 
the result of the bloody liroil there 
enacted was merely a man slaugh- 
tered and not murdered— one man 
slaughtered and two or three others 
maimed and gaslied and prodded ! 
It was a pity that the disgracul'ul 
bungle was not completed by the 
hanging of an innocent man before 
Newgate. The Golden Anchor would 
have ' drawn ' then with a vengeance, 
and done such a trade as never was 
the like; as it is the enterprising 
and conscientious landlord reaps 
little or no advantafj;e from the per- 
petration in his house of the pretty 
uttle tragedy. 

At the time we were in search of 
it, however, it had no special attrac- 
tion ; and it was not without some 
little difficulty that we discovered it 
— a lo*v, broad house, gay with gas, 
clean looking, and standing at the 
corner of a lane leading to that 
dismal waste oi)posite the railway 
station in New Victoria Street, pa- 
tronized by that miserable dreg of 
humanity, the betting blackguard. 
In the distance the house looked so 
quiet and decent that, despite the 
emblem of hope blazoned in gold 
alcove tbe doorway, we should have 
thought ourselves again at fault had 
it not been for the tokens the police- 
man had hinted at, and which were 
made known to us, not at one dozen 
yards' distance off, but at three at 
the very least. 

It was not a sound of mirth, 
neither could it be mistakeu for 
qiaarreling. It was an ujjroar com- 
posed of single ejaculations, de- 
livered by many voices, and with a 
vehemence that was absolutely start- 
ling. It was as thoui^h a multitude 
of strong-lunged religious fanatics 
had seized on a victim and were, in 
set form, cursing him, dwelling with 
demoniac relish on each syllable of 



the anathema, by way of transfixing 
the soul of the poor wretch with 
horror. At the same time there 
smote on the listening ear a hollow 
thumping noise that would well 
hare passed as the rapping of 
poiguaid handles on the lid of an 
empty coffin. 

Nor did a glimpse of the interior 
of the mysterious caravanserai, 
afforded by the swinging ajar of its 
centre door, do much toward dis- 
pelling the suspicion that some 
mystic and terrible ceremony was in 
progress within. There was to be 
seen a ferocious band sesited about 
a long table, while one stood up in 
their midst, in a fiercely excited atti- 
tude, and continually raising both 
his clenched lists above his head, 
and bringing them down on to the 
table with a bang. And yet, marvel 
of marvels! the in(li\'i(iual that 
opened the door was a little girl 
with a beer jug in her hand, and 
she went elbowing close by the fierce 
denouncer, with no more apparent 
concern than though lie had been a 
peep-show man describing the won- 
ders of his theatre. Surely where 
so helpless a creature went we might 
venture, — so in we went. 

A glance explained the mystery. 
The bar was very long, and the 
space before it ample. There were 
butts and tables and forms in this 
space ; and about the tables and the 
butts were grouped knots of Italians, 
young and old, playing at their 
national game of moro — a simple 
game enough, as the reader is per- 
haps aware ; a sort of combination 
of the English boys' games of ' buck 
buck ' and ' odds and evens,' the 
seated players watching the up- 
raised hands of ' buck,' and in their 
turn anticipiiing the number of 
fingers ' hiwk ' intends displaying 
by the time his rapidly descending 
fists reach the table-top. In the 
hands of these Italians, however, it 
was a terrible game. With hashing 
eye and dishevelled hair, the callers, 
too eager to keep tlioir scats, half 
rose and leant over the table, roar- 
ing out their guesses, with their 
noses nearly touching that of ' buck,' 
— the deep chest voices of the men, 
the high-pitched clamour of the 
lads, the laughter of the lucky 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



55^ 



^uessers, nnd the disappointed 
growls ot'tlie unlucky ones, l)lending 
to make a scene most bedlamitish. 
It seemed a conflict for blood rather 
than for beer. Nevertheless, they 
were a jolly, p;ood- tempered crew 
■inough ; and as the games came to 
an end (there were at hast lialf 
a dozen games in progress at the 
various tables), they came jovially 
to the bar and drank their liquor, 
with much joking and friendly 
shoulder-slapping. They paid down 
their losings, too, with the air of 
follows who had spare sixpences to 
spend; indeed, they seemed to be 
so flush of money that we began to 
doi;bt if thev could pos-ibly be men 
who mucked up a day's earnings a 
lialfpeiiny at a lime by grinding at 
an or^an, an I took opportunity to 
ask the waiter (the poor wretch, 
probably, who afterwards was so 
nearly fatally stabbed in the stomach) 
if such were the ca>e 

' They ain't all organ men,' lie re- 
plied; 'some of 'em are pictur- 
trame makers, and image-coves. 
They are about half organ men.' 

' They seem to spend their money 
pretty freely.' 

'So they ought; they earns 
enoueh.' 

' What, the organ men ?' 

'Organ men, ah! A'pence tells 
up, don't yer know. They picks up 
a jolly sight more than me and you, 
as works hard for our livin'.' 

There was notliing in the dress of 
the mow players to distinguish the 
organ grinder fiom his friend the 
'image cove.' All were dressed 
alike— and very well dressed, after a 
style. More than anything they 
looked like a body of seafaring men 
— foreign sailors, recently paid off. 
Their long blue jackets were those 
of holiday-dre.«se(i sailors, as were 
their black satin waistcoats, their 
' navy ' caps, their pumps and their 
earrings, and their abundance of 
silver watch-guard. Moreover, 
most of them wore bright-coloured 
worsted comforters, as do foreign 
sailors invariably when dressed in 
their licst and ashore. Altogether, 
their afipearance was such as to en- 
tirely change one's views concern- 
ing the beggai'ly trade of organ 
grinding. 



Meanwhile our friends carouse, 
and the moro players cluster thicker 
about the tables and butts and the 
din becomes such that the tall and 
muscular landlord has to hold his 
hand to his ear that ho may catch 
the orders of his cnstouK rs. Sud- 
denly, however, a sound of music is 
heard, and mstantly there is a com- 
motion amongst tlie j)la3ors, and all 
but those wlio arc in the middle of a 
game hurry towards a door at the 
end of a passage beside the bar. 
Joining the throng, we too approach 
the door and enter the room it opens 
into. 

It is that to which the organ 
builder reconunendtd us, 'if wo 
must dance.' It is a spacious room, 
with bare, dirty walls, and scant of 
furniture as the casual ward of a 
workhouse. There is only one large 
table in the place, and a-top of that 
is mounted a hard-working grinder, 
in his every-day clothes, with his 
organ at his side, and labouring at 
the handle of it as stolidly, and with 
the same busmess air as though he 
Were standing in the gutter in the 
E'igware lload. Amongst the 
throng that crowd the room he 
must recognize many friends— rela- 
tives, perhaps, — but he looks as un- 
concerned as a soldier on duty in a 
barrack- J ard. Perhaps he would 
not get so many halfpence if ho 
all'ected to regard his services as 
merely friendly 

As it is he docs not fare badly. 
Between each polka and waltz he 
makes a significant pause, and the 
dancers fee him. There are female 
dancers as well as male; and, 
strangely enough, the females are 
not one of them Italian. They 
are chiefly English and Irish girls, 
working in the neighbourhood as 
looking ■gla.'-s fiame polishers We 
were informed by one of the damsels 
in question that the Italians never 
bring their countrywomen with 
them to the dancing-room. Perhaps 
this may be accounted tor on econo- 
mical grounds ; did they bring their 
countrywomen with them, they 
would naturally expect to be treated 
with some degree (jf generosity; 
whereas the grinder's treatment of 
his English or Irish partner was 
as shabby as can bo well imagined. 



56 



The Private Life of a Public Nuisance. 



her only reward being a pull at the 
pewter pot out of which he himself 
regaled. Tr\ie, he did not ask much 
of her ; indeed, his contract with her 
could scarcely be said to amount 
to a partnershij?, the dance being 
managed in this strange fashion : — 
Jaclco and Antonio make up tlieir 
minds for a dance, and select each 
a (iamsel ; but Jacko and Antonio 
dance together, and the two damsels 
dance together alongside Jacko and 
friend. When the dance is over, 
Jacko orders four pen'north of beer, 
and the four divide it amongst 
them. 

' Stingy beggars, arn't they ?' 
whispered the damsel who had 
given us the bit of inforruation con- 
cerning the organ man's peculiar 
method of dancing ; ' thinks as much 
of a shilling as another man would 
of five. It ain't as though it was 
every night.' 

' They don't come here every 
night in the week?' 

' Bless you, no ! a few on Mon- 
days, sometimes, but nothing to 
speak of Saturday night is their 
time— their time out, I mean : Sun- 
day is their time at home. 

'Their time for what? — not 
dancing?' 

' Dancing, no ! no room for 
dancing, with twelve or fourteen of 
'em in a bit of a back parloiir. 
Drinking and cards and dominoes, 
that's what they get up to. Let 
'em alone ; they can come out 
strong enough amongst their own 
Bet. Plenty to eat and drink, plenty 
of rum, plenty of everything.' 

' I shouldn't have thought that 
they earned sutlicient money to in- 
dulge in such luxuries.' 

' They don't earn it all : see what 
their wives earn at artificial-flower 
making and cigar- making.' 

' Then they have pretty comfort- 
able homes ?' 



' Well, comfortable as they look 
at it: you see, they are people of 
such strange ways: all for "club- 
bing." They club together to pay 
the rent of a room ; to buy a joint 
of meat ; for their beer, for their 
tobacco, for everything; eating and 
drinking and smoking together, a 
whole houseful of 'em, just as 
though they were all brothers and 
sisters. Plenty of everything, you 
know, but such a hugger-mugger.' 

The young woman spoke as one 
that knew ; and it was very much 
to our annoyance that, just at this 
moment, Jacko ouce more advanced 
towards her, and invited her to stand 
up and earn another driak of bad 
beer; and so we lost sight of her. 

We had gleaned enough, one way 
and another, however, to convince 
us that Jacko makes a very decent 
livelihood out of his organ. He 
lives well, ta,kes his amusement, lias 
a bettermost suit of clothes, and a 
silver watch and chain. 

'Which is crowning evidence,' 
triumphantly observes the grinder's 
champion, ' that the public are well 
disposed towards the poor fellow, 
that they appreciate his humble 
efforts to amuse them, and properly 
reward him.' 

But isn't there another point of 
observation from which the flourish- 
ing grinder may be viewed? We 
humbly and hopefully think so. 
Assuming— and surely it is fair to 
assume — that at least half the 
grinder's gleanings accrue to him 
as ' smart money ' to send him and 
his nuisance . packing, our eyes are 
opened to the immense strength of 
this section of the army of opposi- 
tion — a section more powerful than 
any other, and one that has only to 
vigorously assert itself, and the days 
of the organ monster's reign are 
numbered. 

Jamks Grebnwood. 



Modem Beau BrummeUism. 



57 



MODERN BEAU BRUMMELLISM. 



BEAU BRUMllELL was the 
dandy of his day, and a dandy of 
a peculiar kind. Etymologists toll us 
tliat the word 'dandy' is derived 
from the French damlin, or ' niuny/ 
or from the ItaUan danifola,ov ' toy.' 
Hence a dandy means one who 
dresses himself like a doll, a fop, a 
coxcomb, a ninny. The pecuhar 
type which was especially repre- 
sented by the famous Brummell was 
combined with an amount of fasti- 
diousness and heiplessntss to which 
there is no parallel. He was a re- 
markable instance of a man pushing 
himself into a grade of society to 
which he had no claim, by dint of a 
certain amount of assurance and a 
high estimation of himself. There 
is nothing more true than the say- 
ing that the world takes a man at 
the value he sets upon himself. He 
who deiDreciates himself by a humi- 
lity, whether true or false, will not 
be esteemed by the world at large. 
The dealer who cries ' stinking fish' 
is not likely to find much custom 
for his wares. Let a man assert 
himself, and lay claim to a certain 
amount of wisdom, and talk like an 
oracle, and the chances are that, un- 
less he is a fool, the world, having 
neither time nor inclination to go into 
the matter, will take him at his own 
valuation. It only requires perse- 
verance, an indomitable will, and in- 
ordinate self esteem, combined with 
a certain amount of tact, which, in 
this instance, might almo.>t be 
better called an instinct of self-pre- 
servation, which prevents a man 
from showing the cards which he 
holds in his own hands. Some peo- 
ple are easily imposed upon by 
silence, and are apt to attribute 
depth of learning and profundity of 
thought to the man who is silent, 
for no other reason than that he has 
nothing to say. Coleridge says, 
' Silence does not always mark wis- 
dom ;' and goes on to relate an 
anecdote in illustration. ' I was at 
dinner, some time ago, in company 
with a man who listened to me and 
said nothing for a long time ; but 
he nodded his head, and I thought 
him intelligent. At length, towards 
the end of dinner, some apple dump- 



lings were placed on tlie table, and 
my man had no sooner seen them 
than he burst forth with " Them's 
the jockeys for me !" He destroyed 
whatever prestige he had acquired 
by his silence by showing his folly.' 
Had he remained silent, Coleridge 
might have continued to think him 
intelligent. The man who is wise 
enough to keep his own counsel 
while he lays claim to superior gifts, 
will probably get credit for all he 
claims. In Brummell we have a 
remarkable instance of a man valued 
according to his own estimate of 
himself. Possessing no great mental 
gifts, he worked his way into the 
highest ranks of society, until he 
came into the very presence of 
royalty, where he made himself ne- 
cessary by the force of will , assurance, 
and self-coneeit, which had already 
obtained for him so great a reputa- 
tion, that to be spoken to by Brum- 
mell, and to dress like him, was the 
ambition of all the dandies of the 
day. No doubt he possessed great 
graces of the body, as well as the 
natural gift of an almost faultless 
taste : otherwise it would be impos- 
sible fully to account for the com- 
pleteness of his success while he 
basked in the sunshine of royal 
favour. He was the very type of 
dandies, 

' neat, trimly dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom . . . 

• » * • 

He was perfumed like a milliner. 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
He gave his nose, and toolc 't away again.' 

Stories without end are told of him, 
all pointing to him as the great 
oracle in dress. No lady ever re- 
quired the attention of her hand- 
maid more than Brummell demanded 
the assistance of his valet during 
the tedious operation of his toilet. 
The great secret of tying a cravat 
was known only to Brummell and 
his set; and it is reported of him 
that his servant was seen to leave 
his presence with a large quantity 
of tumbled cravats, which, on being 
interrogated, he said were ' failures/ 
so important were cravats in those 
days, and so critical the tying of 



Modern Beau Brummellisrn. 



them. His fastidiousness and help- 
lessness are exhibited side by side in 
this anecdote. The one tliat there 
should have been so many ' failures' 
before he could be satisfied ; the 
other, that he should have required 
the assistance of a valet, or, indeed, 
of any hand except his own in tying 
it. 

This fastidiousness and helpless- 
ness are not, however, confined to 
any age. Iiid>lence, conceit, love of 
dres.s, and help'essness, will always 
exist so long as we have bodies to 
pamper and to d< ck. There will 
always be luen who devote much 
time and thought to their per.sonal 
appearance, who ' .shine .so brisk, 
and smell so sweet, and talk so like 
a waiting gentlewoman ;' men who 
try on coat alter coat, and waistcoat 
after waistcoat, that their etTect may 
be faultless ; who consider harmony 
of colour, and the cut of a coat, or 
the tit of a shoe or a boot, matters 
of the greatest moment in life ; who, 
whether beardless bo.ys or elderly 
men, never pass a looking-glass 
without stealing sly glances at them- 
selves, and never move except with 
care and cautiim, lest the atraiige- 
ment of tlieir hair, or some portion 
of their toilet, should be marred. 
The elderly dan<lies study to be 
bien conntrvcs, while the younger 
ones care only never to be beliind 
the fashion of the day, be it what it 
may. In a certain listle.ssness of 
manner they, like Bruminell, de- 
mand the constant attention of a 
valet. They require him to stand 
behind tliem and arrange the part- 
ing of tlieir hair at the back of the 
head and to snu)othe it, to make the 
collar an I tie tie well, to tighten the 
waistcoat, and put on the coat artisti- 
cally, and press out any creases; to 
put the right quantity of perfume 
on the hankcrrhief, and, in tine, to 
bo responsible for their appearance. 
These dandies cannot lace or uniace 
their own boots ; they cannot take 
oft" their own coat ; and never for a 
moment dnamof packing their own 
clothes, or of looking after their own 
luggage when they travel. They 
look for, expect, and demand an 
amount of attention which any, who 
do not happen to be somewhat be- 
hind the scenes, would suppose 



none but the most helpless of women 
would require. It by no means fol- 
lows that they have betn brought 
up in such Sybarite habits. Love 
of ease, love of .sclf-impoitance, or a 
mistaken idea that it indicates high 
breeding, have led to this unman- 
liuess There isi no greater mistake 
than to su|ipo.ce that they who have 
been most accustomed to what are 
called the luxuries of life from their 
very cradle are ttie most dependent 
upon them. Perhai)8 some of the 
most independent men are to be 
found among tho.-e who have all 
their lives l)een in ilie full enjoyment 
of every comfort, while, on the other 
hand, they who have come into 
possession of them only recently, 
and by a lucky stroke of fortune, lay 
the most .stress upou them, and are 
very tenacious of them, as if the 
secret of true happiness were bound 
up in them. Nothing illustrates 
this more than the noblo and manly 
way in which some of those who 
had been brought up in the very 
lap of luxury bore the hardships and 
adversities of a soldier's life during 
the war in the Criujea. Then it was 
that the true rnetal showed itself; 
that good blood proved itself by 
noble deeds. 

It cannot be denied that it would 
be difticult to devise anything more 
hideous or unlx'comiug than the 
dress of a gentlen an of the nine- 
teenth century. It may he easy and 
comfortable, and a wider margin 
may be allowed to the caprice of 
individuals; but, in all its forms, it 
is ugly and delieient in both pic- 
turesque and ]):cti trial effect. Ono 
of the great char; us of Vandyke's 
pictures, apart, of cour.se, from their 
exipiisite painting, lies in the dress. 
They are all sulIi courtly gentle- 
men, and one feels to lie in such 
good comj)any os one admires them. 
Theirs was no fancy dress put on 
for the occasion, no special dandyism, 
but the ordinary dress of the times, 
such as men of their rank and posi- 
tion were accustomed to wear. 
There was much more etiquette in 
dress formerly than now exists, just 
as there was much more formality 
in all they did. Ruffles and buckles, 
silk hose and doublets, were not 
adopted specially by any one more 



Modern Beau Brmnmellism. 



50- 



devoted than his neighbours to the 
love and science of dress. Men and 
women were more courteous to one 
auotlier, outwardly at least, than 
they now are. ClidJren rose up at 
the entrance of their parents, and 
did not resume their seats while 
they were standing. No man would 
address any lady in public with his 
head covered. Young men would 
take off their hats even to their 
equals, always to tln-ir eLleis. Tho 
old miniut di- Lt- cvur was a very 
sedate kind of dunce compared with 
those of tlie present day. If we 
have gained in fretdom, we have 
list a great deal of outward mutual 
re.-;pect. Much of what we mean 
still remains on the Continent, where 
there is a consiiierable distinction 
between the various classes in 
matters of dress. The peasaut has 
his or her style, and the nobles theirs, 
while the intermediate classes have 
their distinctive styles. These dis- 
tinctions are now abolished. We 
have no national costume ; and the 
lowest menials eniUavour to imitate, 
to the best of their powers, the 
grandest lords and ladies in tho 
land. 

It would be a great mistake to 
infer, from the pictures which have 
been handed down to us, that there 
■was more dandyism formerly than 
now. Who would lay anything ot the 
kind to the charge of Lord Nelson ? 
Yet we tiud him represented to us, 
in paintings des^criptive of his great 
naval actions, dressed in knee- 
breeches, silk stockings, and all the 
accessories of a court dress. 

It was the custom which pre- 
vailed at that period, and is by no 
means a fashion in the sense in 
which the word is used to denote 
super-excellence and super-i\istidi- 
ousness in dress. At the death of 
Lord Nelson the officers who sur- 
rounded that great hero are de- 
picted dressed according to the 
custom which was as much de 
rigueur as it is now for officers in 
the army and navy to put on their 
uniforms when tliey go into the 
presence of royalty. To compare 
small things with great, we tind 
that Lord Winchilsea's Eleven 
played at cricket in silver-laced 
hats, knee-breechos, and silk stock- 



ings. Bumps and even blood would 
occasionally show and come through 
the stockings; and it is related of 
one man that he tore a finger-nail 
ofif against his shoe- buckle in pick- 
ing up a ball ! There must have 
been a very different kind of bowl- 
ing then to that which now prevails, 
if we may judge from the neeesi>ity 
for pads of all kinds and descrip- 
tions, and when, in spite of pads 
and gloves, fingers and, occasion- 
ally, even legs are broken by the 
excessive violence of the bowling. 

The formality and coiu'tliness in 
dress which existed even to so late 
a period as that to which we have 
referred, may be said to have gone 
out with houps and powiler. Our 
ancestors, no doubt, deplored the 
changes which took place in their 
days, and sighed over the intro- 
duction of novelties, and the free- 
dom or license, as it may be called, 
in dress in our times would have 
shocked their sense of propriety, 
for we find an amusing account in 
the ' Spectator ' of the alarm felt at 
the way in which ladies dressed 
themselves for riding, ' in a hat 
and feather, a riding-coat and peri- 
wig, or at least tying up their hair 
in a bag or riband, in imitation of 
the smart part of the opposite sex,' 
which the astonished countryman 
described as ' a gentleman in a coat 
and hat.' 

There con be no doubt that a 
certain amount of attention to dress 
is necessary so lar as it effects per- 
sonal cleanliness and neatness. A 
well-dressed man, that is to say, a 
man who dresses like a gentleman, 
neither like a top, nor a clerk, nor 
a tailor who makes his own back 
his advertisement, is sure to be well 
received in all good society. Glold- 
smith says that ' Proce^sions, ca- 
valcades, and all that fund of gay 
frippery furnished out by tailors, 
barbers, and tirewomen, mecha- 
nically influence the mind into 
veneration ; an emperor in his 
nightcap would not meet with half 
the respect of an emperor with a 
crown.' The only complaint made 
against our gracious Queen, when 
she visited Ireland, by some of her 
poor Irish subjects was, that ' she 
was dressed like any other lady, and 



60 



Modern Beau Brummellism. 



had no crown on her head.' There 
is mucl) worldly wisdom in paying 
some heed to the adornment of the 
outer man. It is a good letter of 
introduction ; but when it goes be- 
yond that, and branches out into 
excesses of foppery, it becomes un- 
manly, and, as sucla, cannot be too 
much condemned. When young 
men are either so helpless or fas- 
ti<iious that the constant presence 
of a valet during their toilet is a 
slne(pid non ; that the parting at the 
back of the head requires as much 
attention as a lady's ' back hair ;' 
it is time, indeed, that some such 
satirist as the old ' Spectator' 
should rise up and turn them into 
ridicule. 

But of all the fops in existence, 
the old fop is the most contemptible. 
A man who has outlived liis gene- 
ration ; who trips like Agag ' deli- 
cately,' to hide the infirmities of 
age, or affect a youth that has long 
ceased; who competes, with the 
young men of the day in his atten- 
tions to the fair sex ; who dresses in 
the very extreme of the prevailiu'.^ 
fashion of the day, with shirts ela- 
borately embroidered, and wrist- 
bands, fastened together with con- 
spicuously magnificent sleeve-links, 
which he is always pulling down, 
either to show them or to establish 
the fact, which no one would care 
to dispute, that he has a clean shirt 
to his back ; who is scented and 
perfumed; whose wig, faultlessly 
made, is judiciously sprinkled with 
a few grey hairs that it may appear 
to be his own hair when he has 
long ceased to have any to boast of ; 
who uses dyes and cosmetics tliat 
the marks of age may be obliterated 
and the bloom of youth imitated ; 
who is in a flutter of delight when 
any one conversant with his weak- 
ness is kind enough to mistake him 
for his own son or the husband 
of one of his daughters ; such a 
man is an object of both pity and 
contempt. When age is not ac- 
companied by wisdom, but exhibits 
only the folly of which man's weak- 
ness is capable, it is a hopeless 
case. 

Dirty fops are an especial abo- 
mination. Men, young or old, who 
are at great pains to adorn them- 



selves without the most scrupulous 
regard to cleanliness ; who wear 
many rings upon very indifferently 
washed lingers ; who hang them- 
selves in chains of gold; whose 
shirt fronts present the greatest 
variety, at diiTerent times, of the 
most costly jewellery ; whose dis- 
coloured teeth and ill- brushed hair 
are a revelation in themselves, — 
such men only make their defect 
the more conspicuous by the deco- 
rations with which they overlay it. 
It is related of a gr ancle dame who 
was remarkable for her wit and 
beauty, that she rejected a man of 
considerable note in the world, as 
well as an ' exquisite,' of his day, 
and who was one of her most de- 
voted admirers, for no other reason 
than that she saw ensconced be- 
tween his teeth, when he made his 
appearance at breakfast, a piece of 
spinach which she had noticed the 
evening before. It is impossible 
for any one, whether man, woman, 
or child, to be too particular about 
cleanliness of person and of habits. 
In these days, when there are such 
facilities for washing, and when all 
appliances are so easy of attainment, 
it is perfectly inexcusable in any 
one to fail in cleanliness ; and of all 
people, the fop, who professes to 
make his person his study, is the 
most inexcusable if he neglect the 
fundamental principle of dandyism, 
which is, in fact, its chief, if not its 
only recommendation. 

It has been said that the youth 
who is not more or less a dandy, 
will grow into an untidy, slovenly 
man. There may be some truth in 
this. Indeed, we should be sorry to 
see any young man altogether in- 
diiferent about his personal appear- 
ance. It is not that which offends. 
It is rather the excess to which it is 
carried ; when self becomes the 
all-absorbing subject upon which 
thought, time, and labour are spent ; 
when it degenerates into foppery, 
into an effeminacy, into a certain 
listlessness, helplessness, and aifec- 
tation which are unworthy of a man. 
It is finicalness of dandyism, and 
not its neatness and cleanliness, that 
we quarrel with, on the principle 
that whatever detracts from manli- 
ness is unworthy of a man. 



The " Beaux Mondes " of Paris and London. 



61 



THE • BEAUX MONDES ' OF PAEIS AND LONDON. 



IT is now some months since one of 
the Jeading and most popular 
journals ot the day directed the 
public attention to a very remark- 
able phase of society in Paris. It 
seems that a certain portion of the 
heau moiidc of tliat capital, impelled 
by an iacredible impulse (whether 
for good or evil who can tell?), 
made advances to the demimonde, 
and both sought and obtained ad- 
mission within the precincts of that 
society. It almost surpasses belief, 
that women of fair reputation, of 
good descent, and of high repute in 
the best Parisian society should, for 
the sake of an idle curiosity, con- 
descend to desire an acquaintance 
with the life, manners, and customs, 
of a certain class of women whose 
position and circumstances denote 
the very reverse of purity and 
chastity, and who keep a kind of 
court whicli is attended by all the 
men of wealth and fashion between 
twenty and sixty. It is possible 
that the heau, monde may have 
desired to solve the problem why 
there existed so great a disinclina- 
tion for matrimony, and what those 
charms were which attracted so 
many from their homes and made 
them truants. They may have 
wished to reclaim some who had 
wandered from their allegiance, but 
it was a rash experiment and one 
which nothing could justify. Their 
presence sanctioned that against 
which their whole life was, or ought 
to have been, a protest. They 
descended from their high position, 
and if they have sullied their own 
reputation they have no one to 
blame but themselves. If mere idle 
curiosity was their motive they 
were, of course, still more without 
excuse. "We all know how fatal 
a gift curiosity is, and how much 
woe it has worked. Our common 
mother Eve was not proof against 
it, and we are sufferers. How could 
they hope to escape its penalties if 
they were bent upon indulging it at 
all risks? But there is a much 
graver question underlying this 
peculiar i)hase of Parisian society. 
is it that in France there is a dif- 



ferent code of morals to that which 
prevails wherever Christianity is 
taught? Is it that French morality 
and French decency are names 
without a meaning, and that Paris 
is morehoneycdmbed with vice than 
any other city? Is it that the 
Court is less pure or the general 
tone of society more corrupt ? Is it 
that home influences are unknown 
or depreciated ? It is a remarkable 
fact, when taken in combination with 
the flourishing condition of the 
dtvii monde and the recognized 

* status ' it has in Paris, that a 
French family is proverbially small ; • 
so much so that the contrary is 
looked upon as quite exceptional, 
which a French lady of our acquaint- 
ance spoke of as being comme Its 
Anfjlah. 

it was not long after our attention 
had been drawn to the existing state 
of things, that we read an acount of 
the magnificence of a house in Paris 
belonging to a lady whose ambition 
it was to eclipse all her rivals in 
luxe. In addition to the boundless 
expenditure which she lavished 
upon it, she ordered, it was said, 
four pictures of herself to be painted 
after a peculiar fashion, which shall 
be nameless. In one of them, which 
has been completed, she is repre- 
sented as Cleopatra, as she rises up 
in her unveiled beauty before the 

* dull, cold-blooded Caesar,' into 
whose presence she had been intro- 
duced witliin the folds of a carpet. 
This speaks volumes, and needs no 
comment. If such lionnes are the 
rage of the fasliionable and artistic 
world of Palis, we cannot be sur- 
prised that there should be any ap- 
proximation to an entente cordiide 
between the heau monde and the 
demimonde. We remember to have 
heard some years ago an English- 
man, who had married a foreigner, 
declare that he would never allow 
his wife to ha've a French woman for 
her friend, as he believed there was 
scarcely one good one amongst 
them. This was a sweeping con- 
demnation against which we were 
not slow to protest, because we have 
ourselves known several who are 



•(J2 



The ' Beaux Mondes ' if Paris and London. 



examples of all tliat is good and 
pure. But after the revelations that 
have lately been raade, we are in- 
clined to fear that general society is 
not conspicuous for its morality. 

Paris lias readied a climax in 
what is geneifilly called civilization 
that cannot tie surpassed. She has 
adorned and beautified herself with 
a rapidity and splendour that are 
without a parallel. She is the most 
beautiful capital in the world — the 
queen of cities ; she has put out of 
eight all that can ottend the taste of 
the most refined critics; she has 
driven further and further back all 
the signs of poverty and labour 
which might oifend the eye or sug- 
gest a thought inconsistent with the 
opulence and gaiety with whif-h it 
is her desire to impress her visitors ; 
she is a very Sybarite of cities ; but 
with all her magnificence of decora- 
tion, with all her lavish outlay and 
ever-changing caprice, which con- 
stitutes her the leader of fashion 
throughout Europe, she carries 
within herself the elements of lier 
own ruin, which cannot be far dis- 
tant. No society can last long 
which is so rotten at its core, where 
profligacy reigns, and all sense of 
propriety is at a discount. 

The hi.story of the world supplies 
abundant instances of cities which 
have reached a climax of refined 
splendour, and, being lifted up in 
their pride, have overlooked vir- 
tue, and have been dashed to the 
ground, and have crumbled to ruin; 
nor nce.l France go far to look for 
such an example. In the period 
before the great French Eevolution 
society had becftme corrupt. They 
who ought, to have been examples 
of virtue niaile use of their high and 
exalteil position for the indulgence 
of their evil pas.sions, and saw in it 
only oppartunilies for a vicious life. 
Even now men tremble at the recol- 
lection of the awful judgment tha,t 
fell upon them, which has left that 
fair and beautiful country in a state 
of ferment from which there seems 
to be no repose, and which can only 
be kept uu«ler by the firm hand of 
a great military power which is ever 
ready to repress the tirct indication 
of the popular mind daring to think 
ior itself. 



Wo have said that there is a 
deeper and graver question under- 
lying the present aspect of society 
in Paris. May it not be that there 
is throughout society, in every part 
of the world, a general uprising 
against restrictions of all kinds? 
Freedom and liberty are the watch- 
words of all parties and all nations, 
and the separation between them 
and licentiousnt'sss and license is 
very narrow and quickly got over. 
Under their high-sounding names 
much wrong is done ; spoliation and 
lawlessness shelter themselves there, 
and every one claims for himself 
the right to do what seems to him 
good in his own eyes. It is impos- 
sible to help seeing that there is a 
growing di.'«like to all authority, to 
everything which imposes a fetter 
upon the human will. Children are 
quick to throw oflf the restraints of 
parental authority ; married people 
to live more separate lives ; scholars 
to sit in judgment on their teachers ; 
congregations to dismiss their 
preachers; the clergy to set at 
nought their bishops; politicians to 
foment discord and rebellion when 
it suits their purpose to do so. The 
disposition to reduce the law of 
both church and state down to the 
very minimum of its letier is one 
of the prevailing faults of the age. 
The first promptmgs of the human 
intellect of the present day is to 
dispute, step liy step, every demand 
which is made upon it in the name 
of authority; and we believe it to 
be this temper which tends to the 
severanceof those tie.'', and the de- 
preciation of those maxims which 
are the bond and safeguard of 
society. 

Tiiere are certain usages and cus- 
toms better known by the somewhat 
indefinite term of the conotnuncss of 
society., which have become to some 
extent law. and have a prescriptive 
right to orir respectful attention and 
consideration. Against these the 
mind of the nineteenth century re- 
bels. Old customs and traditions 
are treated with the utmost con- 
tempt and set at noughtj and m the 
manners of the rising generation 
there is expressed the most decided 
resistance to that d«l icacy of thought 
and consideration f >r others which 



The ' Beaux Mondes ' of Paris and London. 



(;8 



lorraerly served to make men keep 
out oi sight auy inliiDgement against 
gooii morals. It may be said that 
the motive was low— that it was a 
mere ieeliug oi human respect, and, 
as such, Oi but httle value ; yet, 
even if so, it surely had the advan- 
tage over that most culpable dis- 
regard for appearances which leads 
to the public exhibition of vice. In 
the fact that men dare not associate 
publicly with vicious companions 
there lies a protest on the part of 
society in general against their evil 
doings ; but the mfuuent they cease 
to restrain their conduct within due 
limits, and unblushiugly pursue 
their course, and society still tole- 
rates them and winks at their sf- 
frontery, there is no longer any 
saf^'giurd against its utter demo- 
ralization. 

We owe a vast debt to those who 
have raised their voices in condem- 
nation of the attitude of the hrau 
mondt towards the demi mondc of 
Paris. We do not entertain the 
opinion held by some that it is 
better not to speak ot these things, 
but siiuply to ignore them as if they 
did not exist; for if we have a serious 
malady, or a wound in any part of 
our bodies, we do not gain anything 
by pretending that we have it not ; 
and we hold that it is, to say the 
least, unwise to shut our eyes to the 
fact that a revolution of an important 
character has taken place in society. 

In public matters there is nothing 
wrong in pointing out a scandal 
where it exists. To ferret out a 
neiglibour's faults, and to expose 
them to the public gaze, is an in- 
fringement of the law of charity. 
But that which is a blot in the in- 
tercourse of individuals with each 
other, chameleon-like, changes its 
hue altogether when it becomes a 
question of nation against nation. 
National customs, national tastes, 
national faults, are a safe mark for 
other nations to hit at pleasure. In 
the first place, what is national is 
more or less public property— there 
is no exposure of ' secret faults ;' and, 
in the second place, the principle of 
self-protection justifies it, because 
we may avert evil from ourselves 
by noting its existence and its ruin- 
ous consequences elsewhere. We 



may effect a kind of moral quaran- 
tine by which dangerous and pol- 
luting influences shall be kept at a 
distance. It becomes a duty to 
note and comment upon the signs 
of the times, and to take warning 
from every false step which others 
make. We may thereby arrest the 
progress of evil at home, and expose 
the snares and pitfalls which lie con- 
cealed beneath a spet-ious exterior ; 
only let us be sure of one thing — 
that we are equally clearsighted as 
to our own defects. 

• O wad some Power the giftie gle us 
To see ouisels as others see us, 
It wad liiie mony a blunder free us. 
And foolish notion.' 

There is no fault into which we 
are more apt to fall than that of 
being keen to detect errors and short- 
comings in others, and slow in dis- 
covering our own. As individuals 
wc have no right to do so. But the 
law which is intended to seal the 
lips of those who are addicted to 
evil speaking has no such restrictive 
power where nations and the public 
good are concerned. It is said that, 
as a rule, no class of persons is so 
censorious as the highly moral. 
There is something, perhaps, in the 
unassailableness of virtue and mo- 
rality which tempts the virtuous to 
throw stones ; and wc are disposed 
to think that it is the tendency of 
all nations, but especially of Eng- 
lishmen, to hold the customs, tra- 
ditions, and manners of all other 
countries cheap. 

It is a matter of fact that, with 
all our national pride, we are, in 
many instances, the most servile 
coi^yists of the French, and it will 
be well for us to inquire whether 
the spirit of this century has not 
led us in the same direction as that 
which we so justly condemn in our 
neighbours. Are there any indica- 
tions of a similar movement on this 
side of the Channel ? Can we de- 
tect any signs and sounds of its 
advent among us? There is no 
wisdom in throwing dust in our own 
eyes ; to be forewarned is to be 
forearmed, and we are inclined to 
think that there are sufficient 
grounds for apprehen.'^ion. 

Not many years ago it would 



The ' Beaux Mondes ' of Paris and London. 



Lave been considered to be the very 
acme of indecency and impudence 
for any of tlie tlioughtlet^s young 
men who abound, more or less, in 
every capital to recognize, or to 
appear even to notice in public, any 
of those fair ' unfortunates ' who lie 
in wait ' to hunt souls.' They would 
have been distressed beyond measure 
at the idea that their mothers or 
sisters should suspect, much more 
know, of their having formed any 
liaisvn so dangerous and disreputa- 
ble. But such tenderness of con- 
science, such regard for the proprie- 
ties of life, scarcely remains. It is 
no uncommon thing for a young 
man to appear in the Park escorting 
a ' celebrity ' of this kind, and, as he 
passes some lady of his acquainlauce, 
to lift his hat in courteous recog- 
nition of her, as though there were 
nothing to be ashamed of in his 
companion. Nor is it rare for a 
popular characler to api^ear at the 
Opera, exquisitely dressed, and with 
some pretence of modesty in her 
attire, in one of the most conspicu- 
ous boxes, surrounded by her ad- 
mirers, whose relations witness their 
infatuation from the opposite tier. 
Nor is this all. The very names of 
these women have become so noto- 
rious that they are in the mouths of 
many of the fast young ladies of our 
bmij^ vionilc. IIow they have come 
to srich a knowledge let others tell ; 
but they speak of them, of tlieir 
' turn out,' and their horsemanship, 
and note their dress and style, and 
can tell the ' Skittles ' ponies at a 
distance, and the precise hour at 
which she drives into the Park; 
how she wears her hat, the colour 
of her horse and habit, and even go 
so far as to dress after her, taking 
their cue from her as if they envied 
her her power of attraction. It is 
notorious that many of the changes 
which we have witnessed of late 
years in hats and petticoats have 
originated from celebrities of this 
kind, and we fear it is an indication 
of a disposition on the part of our 



heuu monde to take a leaf out of the 
book of the h'-uu moude of Paris. 
There was also a symj^tom of a like 
tendency in the strange freak which 
so engrossed all our fine ladies a 
few years ago when nothing would 
satisfy them but 'a niglit at Cre- 
morne.' They were possessed by a 
strange and most ill-advised curi- 
osity to know something of its at- 
tractions, and to acquaint theniFelves 
with one of the popular haunts of 
the dcmi moinle. It is true that our 
noble countrywomen shut out for 
the time its usual patronesses, and 
monopolized it to themselves, and 
that in this respect tliey did not go 
so deep into the mire as our foreign 
neighbours would have done, who 
would have preferred it un-Eom- 
fordized ; but in other respects it 
exhibits the same tendency to over- 
step the barrier between them and 
their frail sisterhood, which we 
would earnestly implore them never 
to lower for any consideration. We 
think that, taking all things into 
account, the disposition which exists 
to trample out of sight all the finer 
lines which until lately regulated 
the social intercourse of the upper 
classes, and the very great licence 
which is given to the tongue, t)y 
which the fine edge of modesty is 
blunted, we shall do well to look at 
homo before we are so loud in our 
condenuiation of others. Burns's 
"lines to the ' unco' guid ' are never 
out of season— 

' A" j-e wha are sae giiiii yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae ln)ly ; 
Ye've nocbt to do but mark and tell 
Your neebours' faults and folly.' 

If we have as yet escaped the 
contamination which must, we fear, 
precede such an act as that by which 
the hcau momle of Paris degraded 
itself, it is still an undoubted fact 
that we are not standing on such a 
pinnacle of superior sanctity and 
morality that we can reasonably 
congratulate ourselves that we are 
' not as other men.' 



I 



Balls in Vienna. 



BALLS IN VIENNA. 



* FEW years ago and no Euro- 

1\ pean capital was less visited by 
our coniiti\\men and countrywomen 
than Vienna. In the days of Met- 
tcrnioh despotisms, malice ivei^cnse 
iifrgravatcd the inevittble pains of 
locomotion with a machinery well 
calculated to keep the Austrian 
frontiers clear of mere holiday 
travellers. So that in the days of 
passports and police, few strangers 
came to the Imperial city except on 
business. Vicmia contained, it is 
true, a colony of r< ppnctable English, 
who had settled (ni the banks of the 
Danube for purposes of economy or 
pleasure. But since j)aper money 
has driven away the metallic coinage, 
low prices have taken to themselves 
wings, so that Vienna is at present 
the dearest of European cities, except 
St. Petersburg, for any one who 
cannot renounce home luxuries and 
comforts. Since, too, those Magyar 
grandees, who.se brilliant genial 
hospitality gave Vienna her ancient 
social reputation, have, in conse- 
quence of political enmities, com- 
pletely dipappeaied from the scene, 
the Tustigo Wien lias lost most of 
her trarlitioiial attractions in this 
kind. Then the remnant of society 
which still survives cleaves more 
closely than ever to the surprising 
machinery of the exclusive system, 
and shows, besides, a Chinese dislike 
of strangers. Thus the upper ten 
thousand — or, to speak by the card, 
the upper three hundred— are prac- 
tically unaj)pruachable by foreign 
interlopers who (io not possess the 
open sesame of cx<'eptional privilege. 
Hence no one now comes to Vienna 
either to save money or to disport 
himself in gilded s-aloons. On the 
other hand, despite the want of 
proper hotel acccjmmodation at cer- 
tain periods of the spring and 
autumn, the Graben and the Prater 
are almost as full of strangers as the 
Corso at Easter, or the Cascine at 
Whitsuntide. Then comes the 
British tourist, armed with the 
crimson strabo of Albemarle Street, 
which at once marks him out as 
a proper subject for imposture 
and extortion decorated with the 



favourite apparatus of straps, 
pouches, and other articles of orna- 
mental sadlery, accompatiied by a 
female train, whose rosy cheeks and 
rainbow toilettes excite the wonder 
of all the population. For energy 
and rapidity of performance ho 
stands alone. He and his shove 
their way through the Kohlmarkt 
without apologising to the asto- 
nished persons for the thumps and 
pushes inflicted on the slow, cour- 
teous Austrians. They rattle through 
the Stefan's kiiche, almost knocking 
down the acolytes, and drowning the 
litanies with their jabber. They 
rush into the vaults of the church 
ot the Capucines, and, rattling their 
umbrellas on the silver coffins of 
twenty fossil Hapsburgs, chaff the 
guardians of these venerable relics 
of K. K. greatness, about the pleats 
of the historic Austrian lip. Then 
plunging into the depths of the 
Belvedere, they remark the vulgarity 
' of Titian's Ecce Homo in coojpari- 
son with Mr. Olman Unfs Light of 
the World, and the bad drawing oi 
the acromion process in Bubens' 
snarling crocodile — that miserable 
Exaliosaurian so completely eclipsed 
by Turner's Dragon of the Hespe- 
rides. 

Looking to the point of national 
pride, we may rejoice that the 
British tourist does not come to 
close quarters with the aristocracy 
of Austria. And yet if the contact 
could be, advantage would result to 
both sides; for as our country 
people might pick up manners, so 
the Austrians might pick up ideas. 
However, the business which 
specially concerns us hero, is trans- 
acted in Vienna with a high degree 
of intelligence, and in this depart- 
ment of human excellence the- 
English come in with the ruck of 
the European race. The Ball, as an 
institution, seems to be a distin- 
guishing mark of the modern civili- 
sation of the west. According to 
oriental notions the gasping and 
agitated movements of the dance 
degrade the dignity of the human 
person, and may not be publicly ex- 
hibited except by a professional 



66 



Balls in Vienna. 



class. A like notion prevailed in 
the Greek and Hebrew world. 
Turkish diplomacy has made con- 
cessions to European habits, so that 
the representatives of the Sublime 
Porte are permitted to give balls, 
and the younger Ottomans are some- 
times tempted to indulge in a fur- 
tive waltz. But, as a rule, decent 
Easterns may not trip it on the light 
fantastic toe. In this respect, we of 
the west have surely chosen the 
wiser course. For, barring the inci- 
dental objection attaching to late 
hours, which are no necessary part 
of Terpsichore's practice, the ball is 
the most reasonable of social enter- 
tainments. Now that conversation 
has lost its salt, and that society is 
nothing but a hustling, hurrying 
crowd, it is better to go where 
music, dancing, truffles, and cham- 
pagne await us, than to stiff gather- 
ings of what Byron calls 

' the polisUcd horde 
Formed of .two mighty tribes, the bores and 
bored.' 

For women balls may sometimes 
be full of disappointment and dis- 
gust, but they are the paradise of 
men. At balls the fair sex put on 
their best charms of manner, their 
fi-nest attire, their most massive 
chignons, and, in a word, open all 
the batteries of female seduction. 
The general radiance of feeling and 
behaviour is diffused, even over those 
who do not partake in the special 
business of the night. Under such 
circumstances gossip forgets some 
of his twaddle, stiffness loses some- 
thing of her starch, flirtation becomes 
a more spontaneous and more gush- 
ing flood. Especially is this the 
case amongst the Cephalopodous 
Viennese, whose brains seem to be 
located in their heels. There are 
striking spectacles of the ball sort 
to be seen in Vienna. The annual 
Gala Ball given at the Hoft)urg, and 
the public Biirger, or Citizens' 
Ball at the Redouben Saal are of 
matchless splendour and outer in- 
terest. The social code of Austria, 
which is no less severe than the laws 
of the Modes and Persians, does not 
permit the close contact of plebeians 
with the nobility and K. K. Court, 
Sixteen quarteriiigs on the shield, in 
other words, a double current ot 



blue blood, at least eight genera- 
tions, or a pedigree two hundred 
years long, are the warrant for ad- 
mission to good society and the 
presence of the Imperial House. 
However, into the annual ball, even 
such profane vulgar as Cabinet 
Ministers, Members of Parhament, 
Foreign Ambassadors, and the like, 
are usually smuggled; so tliat the 
company present on these occasions 
swells in dimension and degrades in 
gentility to the English aud French 
standards. The Burg is a plain, 
rambling palace of the barrack class, 
with staircases and approaches ot 
analogous style, and devoid of posi- 
tive decoration except carpets and 
whitewash. On a ball night the main 
streets of Vienna are choked byjtiks 
of carriages and fiacres streaming 
up from every region of the city to 
the Franzens platz of the Burg. 
The entrance gained, an almost 
equally endless line of corridors, 
guarded by Heydrics in the liveiy 
of the double eagle, leads to the first 
of a snaky series of apartment.^, 
which must be traversed before the 
liitter Saal, or great hall of cere- 
mony can he reached. The Saal is 
of spacious and lofty proportions 
encircled by a range of Corinthian 
columns, with an orchestral tribune 
at the extreme end, the whole con- 
struction being lined witli white 
scagliola, and lighted from rows of 
burners set along the entablature 
below the ceiling. The company is 
arranged in horseshoe shape to 
await the coming of the Court. 
Down the sides of the Saal are 
benches rising in an amphitheatre 
fashion, aud occupied by the ladies 
of the aristocracy, to whom, accord- 
ing to their respective rank, specific 
places are assigned. Below them 
stand the gentlemen of the Court, 
nobles, Hofraths, and other official 
staff, great military personages, and 
the officers of the regnneuts in gar- 
rison, besides strangers from the 
adjacent provinces of the empira; 
the curve of the horseshoe is formed 
by the foreign diplomatic body, 
the ambassadors with their respec- 
tive suites standing just beneath 
the tribune, the ambassadors' wives 
and other official ladies, or female 
visitors ot distinction, being close at 



Balls in Vienna. 



67 



hand. While the company gathers a 
hum of muffled conversation is heard; 
but the gaiety proper to the opening 
of a ball is chilled to the icy tone 
prescribed by palatial etiquette. At 
length sometliing agitates the distant 
margin of the sea of heads ; a way is 
cut through the close crowd as sud- 
denly as if a battery of gvms Viad 
opened fire upon its mass; a clond 
of chamberlains, thrown out as skir- 
mishers in advance, widen the lane 
into a road by civil entreaties, sugary 
threats, and the gentle pressure of 
their wands of office. The Imperial 
cortege advances in closer order, a 
blazing column of coloured uniforms 
embroidered with silver and gold, 
led by their Imperial Majesties in 
person. The company express their 
loyalty by profound obeisances, 
which are graciously acknowledged 
by the K. K. pair, who tread slowly 
and solemnly up the Saal, followed 
by their glittering retinue, till the 
ranks of the foreign ambassadors 
are reacheii. Here the Emperor falls 
off to greet the gentlemen of the 
diplomatic body, the Empress in like 
manner moving towards the female 
representatives of foreign countries. 
His majesty shakes hands with the 
ambassador who has been longest 
resident at his court, makes a few 
inquiries about the health of the 
royalty at home, with whom his 
excellency is assumed to be in close 
correspondence, and then pauses in 
order to allow the presentation of 
per-ons of the ambassadorial suite. 
Having asked every such individual 
whether his sojourn in Vienna pleases 
him —a question usually answered 
with a strong affirmative — his 
majesty proceeds to the latitude of 
the ambassador next in order, and 
repeats the same exciting ceremony. 
Afterwards he apiDroaehes the minis- 
ters-plenipotentiary, and then, with 
that grace of manner which is his 
most marked characteristic, addresses 
a few words of recognition to the 
gentlemen who have already had 
the honour of making his Imperial 
acquaintance. Eoyal memories, 
generally so empty of things, are 
usually guided by instincts in respect 
to persons, which seem little less 
than miraculous for accuracy and 
extent. 



During this time the Empress 
gratifies, first the foreign ladies, 
then the foreign gentlemen, with a 
like exchange of compliments. As 
she advances with the tread which 
Virgil attributes to the queen of the 
gods, her face and figure full of 
comraauding majesty and smiling 
giaoe, bowing to right and left with 
swan-like elegance of motion, a sup- 
pressed murmur of admiration runs 
thiough the great assembly. A few 
clouds of tulle, fastened with jewels 
that might furnish an empire's ran- 
som, a nnsegay ^f camellias luixed 
with hanging brilliants, an India of 
rubies and diamonds blazing through 
a coronet of lustrous brown hair — 
such are the adornments of this 
paragon of imperial creatures, the 
most beautiful of a beautiful Ba- 
varian race. A soft, yet sorrowful 
voice, which addresses every stranger 
in his o-A n language with rare purity 
of accent, intonation, and happy 
choice of words, completes the 
charms of this enchanting and right 
royal ravishment. When the for- 
malities of presentation compliment 
are concluded, their majesties pass 
to the ranks of the domestic guests, 
where, however, they make Imt a 
short stay. This interlude finished, 
the orchestra strikes up, a space is 
cleared in front, and the Empress, 
accompanied by the archduchesses 
present, and the several ambassa- 
dresses, takes her place on a sofa to 
see the dancing. On these occasions, 
whether from the fear of doing irre- 
parable damage to priceless tunics 
and flounces of Cluny and Valen- 
ciennes, or from the presence of that 
formidable army of unknown lookers- 
on, which gives the ball the publicity 
of a ballet, there is an absence of the 
brio proper to private assemblies, 
and a reluctance to step into the 
magic circle. The whole scene al- 
most surpasses the splendi>urs of 
operatic pageantry. No uniforms 
are so brilliant at night as t ho- e of 
Austria, nowhere else is there a 
finer flaunting of silks, brocades, 
and satins, nor a more glittering 
display of pearls, emeralds, and dia- 
monds. There is not mucli beauty 
of a striking sort amongst the 
Austrian ladies, but their forms are 
well grown, and the younger peo[ile 



68 



Balls in Vienna. 



present the true type of aristooratic 
distinction, both in manners and ap- 
pearance. Heaven geuotally bestows 
compensations on its creatures, and 
the Au:>tria!is. so empty of brains 
and know le I ^'0, excel in dancing. The 
elder people p o end that tlie adop- 
tion ot steci petticoats luni trailing 
skirts lias cans 1 1 a visible decline in 
the t-killed pra 'ti 'c of this delightful 
art, but a s'raiiiier is more likely to 
woniicr at the jierfection of the pre- 
sent tlian to sig:i for the refiueiueiits 
of the past. Dancing, likn singing, 
cannot l)u pioperly cultivate! in 
narrow and cro^viled rooms, so that 
our own dcLrraded style of execution 
may well be pardoned. English- 
men have rarely enough tar for 
lun.sic to recoijnize the dilference of 
rhythm that separates the polka 
from the waltz, although they can 
somotimes detect, empirically, the 
jingle of a familiar tune. In Vienna 
it iievtr happens that a danciug 
Dundreary, after listening without 
result to an orchestral strain, is 
driven to in piire the nature of the 
dance about to be performed. The 
Vieni.ese are not addicted to music 
of a liigii (dass, bat tlieir hearing is 
of the keenest, b;)th for melody and 
time. wli« never their perceptions are 
spurred by the sLimulus of dancing. 
Jean I'iWil j-aid every Englishman 
was an island and in like inaniier it 
may be said that eveiy Englishman, 
and every Phiglisluvoman too, have 
their own way of dancing. Some 
dancers have no car at all, the ma- 
jority step without precision, one 
has a snaky slide, another a sparrowy 
hop, one likes a solemn andante, 
another a wriggling presto; this 
eontiilent damsel clings clo.se to her 
partner, that bashful virgin struggles 
as she moves to evade the impro- 
priety of a too close embrace. Under 
such anarchical circuaistunces there 
is no chance for the development of 
a refilled and congruous sty le of art. 
Then, as the education of the heels 
hardly satisfit s the requirements of 
an English social career, our youth 
are too <lisposed to neglect this, the 
only vital branch of Austrian school- 
ing. Thus it will be easily under- 
stood that Austrians dance with an 
elegance and ease which, amongst 
ourselves, has no existence at all. 



The Emperor does not permit his 
guests to remain too late, so that 
before tlie stroke of miilnight, gold 
stick, advancing to the imperial 
sofa, invites tl e imperial and diplo- 
matic personages to come to tea. 
The Eiiipiess leading the van, the 
ladies wlio.se lank gives them this 
exalted privilege follow her majesty 
across tlie Saal, tluough several 
corridors and apartments to the 
room specially prep.ired for the royal 
company. Her majesty takes her 
seat at a table with an ambassadress 
on one hand and an archduchess on 
the other, taking care that their tea 
is properly seasoned with sugar and 
milk. The gentlemen crowd into 
the room, and all eyes are directed 
to the beautiful hostess. Perhaps 
nothing but the habit of the stage 
can steel a woman to ordeals like 
this, which, if tlattering to vanity, 
are terrible encounters even for the 
toughest nerves. No other sove- 
reign in the bloom of youth and 
loveliness commands a larger stock 
of self- possession than the Austrian 
empress ; but even she, on .i^iven oc- 
casions, seems to shrink from the 
admiration of her lieges with the 
conscious modesty of a woman who 
finds herself the cynosiu'e of a thou- 
sand ardent eyes. At length the 
scene of trial closes, and tl.e com- 
pany return to the Saal to witness 
the thial cotillon. Rleanwhile, tables 
are spreaii throughout the adjoining 
rooms with tea, coffee, ices, jellies, 
preserves, cakes, and other light 
refreshments. Solid supper is not 
given, but champagne and punch 
flow in rivers on every side, and the 
impierial flunkeys distribute bonbons 
that transcend the choicest morsels 
of Boissie'r or Zouache. These 
luscious treasures are wrapped not 
in mere shreds of tinsel, but in ar- 
tistic photographs of the members 
of the imjierial family. Thus while 
the Austrian mouth is satiated with 
sugar, the Austrian mind is stimu- 
lated with loyal sentiment. At 
length the cotillon ends, the imperial 
pair retires, the company crowds the 
steps, and soon after midnight the 
last carriage rolls away from the 
entrance of the Burg. 

Few private balls are given in the 
best Vienna circles: but somo of 



Balls in Vienna. 



69- 



those which do occur may be iaken 
as models of sumptuous and refined 
hospitality. For the Austriaus, who, 
in respect of every other species of 
.social cnterb^inmciit, are a churlish 
and close-fistt'd people, when a ball 
is on the tapis forget their parsimony 
and open their purses wide. 

In Vienna tiiere are are two pri- 
vate palaces justly famous for their 
balls. The town houses of the 
English aristocracy sometimes pos- 
sess handsoiue apartments, Imt spe- 
cial ball-rooms are almost, if not 
quite, unknown. Paris and Peters- 
burg can show many opulent and 
imposing mansions. For magnifi- 
cence of internal plan and decora- 
tion the palaces of Rome are unap- 
proached, and in many of them 
thought has been taken for great 
festive occasions. All these cities 
do honour to Terpsichore ; and the 
Roman entertainments, in particular, 
are calculated to make a strong 
impression on a3sthetic minds on 
account of the architectural beauty, 
the tapestries, the statues, the paint- 
ings, the superb proportions of the 
rooms where they are held. But 
the mere business of dancing is 
better transucted at Vienna. All 
the arrangements and appliances 
are well adapted to the one great 
end. The entrance-hall, the corri- 
dors, the main staircase, are lined 
with an army of liveried lackeys ; 
and a long series of chambers, easy 
of approach and egress, lead to the 
ball-room, which is provided with 
several outlets, so as to prevent the 
circulation being stopped. The ball- 
room is spacious, lofty, faced with 
scagliola ornaments, imitated from 
good models of Rococo decoration, 
lighted with exceeding brilliancy by 
lustres of Vienna mamtfacture, 
which, as their framework is of 
wood, are able to be constructed of 
unusually massive proportions. The 
music is matchless, and consists 
either of executants from the or- 
chestra of Strauss, or of a select 
military band. Strauss stands at 
the head of his art, and the Austrian 
bands seem scarcely to lielong to 
the same instrumental category as 
those of England and France. The 
military music of Austria is a slave 
rather than a Grerman institution. 



for the greater part of the performers 
arc either Czechs, Hungarians, or 
Hungarian slaves. The bandsmen 
play with equal facility on wind and 
stringed instruments; and nothing 
can surpass their splendour of tone, 
their elaboration of finish in execu- 
tion, the certainty and solidity of 
their cnsemhli-. Lovers of uuisic can 
never tire at an Austrian ball, and 
the most bigoted purist will find 
beauty of melody and treatment in 
the compositions performed. The 
mere operation of dancing is kept 
up till morning with great vigour, 
but other sorts of amusement do 
not prosper. Flirtation, in par- 
ticular, does not seem to flouri.sh on 
Austrian aristocratic soil. There 
are no tender couples sitting apart 
in cozy corners ; no naughty prin- 
cesses listening to declarations till 
their chaste cheeks blush with hap- 
piness or fear ; no gay deceivers, en- 
treating for surrei:»titious gloves, 
kisses, and locks of hair. That 
Austrian folly never grows romantic, 
that there exists no current of sub- 
terraneous sentiment, it would be 
rash to assert. But it may safely be 
said that outer demonstrations of 
such a sort are very rarely wit- 
nessed, and that the scandalous 
chronicle is very .seldom invoked. 
Like other women, those of Vienna 
are asked and given in marriage, 
nor can it be supposed that an Aus- 
trian wedding is an invariable 
guarantee of matronly virtue. Still 
such business is transacted sah rosa, 
and flirtation, whether as a prelimi- 
nary or a pastime, is not cultivated 
or comprehended in its artistic 
forms. Flirtation, after all, is a 
science that demands for its exercise 
a certain amotint of intellectual re- 
source, and the mildest miniinuniof 
thought is too heavy a tax on the 
Vienna brain. However, other in- 
tellectual compensations exist. The 
' provant ' department is adminis- 
tered with a completeness which 
would give Captain Dalgetty his 
heart's desire. After the first co- 
tillon is eu'led, generally between 
two and three in the morning, 
supper is announced. A dancing 
archduke leads in the lady of the 
house, the other dancers follow with 
their partners; durchlantsandotlier 



70 



Balls in Vienna. 



dignitaries take a road and room 
apart. 

The Austrians are large eaters, 
but quantity, not quality, is their 
test of culinary excellence. How- 
ever, good cooks are to be i'ouad in 
Vienna at low wages by any one who 
takes the precaution of closing with 
a Czech or Hungarian artist ; for 
Germans, as a race, are incapable of 
mastering the inner refinements of 
the culinary science. The cooks of 
Vienna excel in sweet dishes, and 
women who cannot brew a potatje 
Colbert or Bis[ue will nevertheless 
turn out faultle.'-s meringues. 

It is hard to get a good dinner at 
any of the hotels or traiteurs of 
Vienna. A small restaurant is at- 
tached to the casino, or aristocratic 
club, in the Herrengasse. Here the 
viands and wine, if falling far below 
the Parisian standard, though rather 
above the Parisian prices, are at 
least tolerable. The Austrians do 
not much indulge in dinner hospi- 
tality, so that the rising generation, 
which dots not travel and di^es not 
study Brillat-Savariu, has no tair 
chance ot educating its palate. At 
balls the greatest exertions are made, 
and the guests may always sup, if 
not wisely, at least well. This im- 
portant meal cannot, of course, be 
taken standing by people of strict 
gastronomic principles. As the 
great object of Amphitryons and 
artists alike is to assimilate their 
snppers to those of Paris^ to describe 
the savoury mountains under which 
the tables groan would be to re-edit 
the best page.s of Francatelli and 
Ude. Perhaps the pride of Austrian 
larders is the Bohemian pheasant, a 
bird of fatter and more luscious 
flesh than his British cousin. The 
capercailzie, or anerhahn (Tetrao 
uroi/iillus), is a fowl of splendid per- 
sonal appearance, but indiiferent 
cnhnary qualities. The capercailzie 
is to the grouse what the aurochs is 
to the race of domestic cattle, and 
from his size and eccentric habits 
he is much sought after by Austrian 
.sportsmen. He must be caught in 
Ihe act of whistling to his frau 
gratin, in which pastime he only 
indulges at night. Then the sports- 
man, advancing with diplomatic 
precaution till the bird's form is 



seen in relief against the sky, kills 
this parent of our grouse as he sits 
perched on his bough anticipatory 
not of death but of llirtatioa. This 
may appear a poaching procedure, 
but the case of the wild swine in 
Austria is sadder still. In the 
imperial beast-garden, near Vienna, 
for instance, sus fero.c roam> about 
munching acorns, and keeping com- 
pany with the K. K. deer, for the 
out-door species of Austrian hog is 
a sociable creature. Huts are 
erected at the point.'^ where the 
fore.st paths and glades intersect 
eacii other; and on the oi'casion of a 
grand battue Imperial JMajesty, and 
as many of the eighteen archdukes 
as may be available, take their sta- 
tions in the aibresaid huts. The 
peaceable and I'eluctant wild swine 
being then driven past in battalions, 
are satisfictonly slaughtered by 
breech-loaders till the vindictive 
humours of the ruler's soul have 
pas.sed. Poor Austrian out-door 
hog! It is said that from motives 
of economy his oeast-garden at 
Hntteldorff and elsewhere will be 
dismantled, so that ne will pre- 
sumably be free to roam about the 
tace of the empire. But hogs and 
capercailzies should only'concern us 
in respect of their esculent proper- 
ties. 

Amongst the specialities of Aus- 
trian dancinghfe should be men- 
tioned the balls given in the many 
assembly ro,)ms of the city. In ad- 
dition to the so-called ' pic-nics ' of 
tiie aristoci'acy, a sort of Austrian 
Almack's, there are public balls got 
up by and for specific classes of the 
population. I^or instance, the stu- 
dents, the tourists, the artists, the 
burgliers, each of these classes has 
its separate ball. Tlio artists' ball 
is the ino.st interesting, as the ce- 
lebrities of the corjiv de ballet appear 
and dance in the costume of ordinary 
life, arrayed, too, with a richness of 
silk^, satins, and laces that cannot 
be surpassed by tne most expensive 
efforts of aristocratic crinoline. Tiie 
biirger ball is hei' I in the lledoubeu 
Saal, an assembly-room belonging to 
the apartments of the Burg, and let 
out by the competent K. K. Beamten 
to individuals or committees. The 
great room is surrounded by a con- 



Becollectiona of a Bachelor. 



71 



tinnons gallery, from which the 
ladies of tlie aristocracy, who could 
not degrade themselves by contact 
wiili the (lancers, watch tiie pro- 
ceedings of the middle classes at the 
liiii'ger ball. This ball offers an 
admirable bird's-eye view of the 
class in qne-tion. A stranger, who 
visits it on two or three consecutive 
occasions will probably come to tlie 
conclusion that the amalgamation of 
the Austrian aristocracy and middle 
class will not be achieved imtil the 
latter make more show than tliey do 
at present of copying the outward 
appearance and manners of the 



former. It is hardly conceivable 
that anything short of a convulsivm 
would throw the two orbits into 
one. However repugnant Austrian 
practice in this resjiect may be to 
Ji'nglish notions, it is doubtful if our 
ways would suit the banks of the 
Danube. While the nobles decline 
to stoop, the middle class does not 
much desire to chml). Far from 
the faults of the social strata being 
a source of bitterness to those be- 
low, they are accepted as harmless, 
if not useful, interruptions of a con- 
tinuity which no one desires to 
establish. 



EECOLLECTIONS OF A BACHELOE 

By Jack Easel. 



TO be twenty years of age, with a 
sound digestion, a light heart, 
and a latch-key, seetns to me, in 
certain moods, the aummmn honum 
of earthly enjoyment. I am not 
going to remark that a man at that 
lime of life is cleverer, or more vir- 
tuous, or a niore profitable member 
of society than when his beard 
begins to grizzle. I only fay he is 
happier : that he ha« probably never 
been .'-o haf)|>y before, and that he 
certainly will never be so agaiu. 
The jollity of .schoolboys is, I fancy, 
over-ratfc<l. We look back upon 
that so-cal'ed golden period of early 
youth through a pleasant but de- 
ceptive hido. which makes us forget 
the alloy of discoinfirts which it 
contained. In the old Gi'eek cp- 
gram, a certain hero hails with 
reverence b>)th Mnemosyne and 
Lethe in one breath. ' Let me,* 
cries he, 'remember all the good I 
have done, and foreet my errors.' 
And. after this fashion, we indulge 
in a retro.'-pect of cricket and round 
jackets. We call to mind the de- 
lig-'its of ' breaking-up day,' our un- 
jinpaircfl appetite for pastry, the 
glow of pleasure with which we 
recti red our prizes (yini may guess 
how many fell to my share), but we 
{ox^i t the miseries we endured ; 
the horrors of Propria qua/, marihits 
and Pons asinorum; the fussy plati- 



tudes of that old pedagogue in a 
trencher cap ; the brutal conduct 
of the young sixth-form tyrant for 
whom we had the honour of fagging ; 
the depressing chill of enrly ' cha- 
pels;' the cruel scars which were 

left upon : no; not even if Mr. 

Gunter himself we i"e to offer me the 
whole contents of his shop bride- 
cakes and all ; not if I might be 
captain of the school eleven ; not if 
I c 'uld read 'Euripides' as easily 
as the ' Times' newsjinper; not for 
the rosiest cheeks in the world, the 
most generous ' tips ' that could be 
hoped for, — nay, not to be that 
model of scholastic perfection, Mr. 
Thomas Brown himself, — would I 
go back to fifteen again! 

But to call oneself man for the 
first lin)e; to wield the razor with 
a consciousne-^s of real necessity 
(boss used to shave in 184 — ); to 
live in lodgings or chambers on 
one's own account,— go out or coniu 
home when ojie likes; to enter upon 
life with a keeii zest for life's en- 
joyments, with health, spirits, hope, 
and a tolerably easy conscience — 
ah ! that is the true golden age ; 
those are the rosy hours when, 
taking old Father Time kindly by 
the hand, setting his scythe and 
hour-glass in the chimney-corner, 
and i)assing the loving-cup across 
the table to him, most of us would 



72 



JRecollections of a Bachelor, 



cry, ' Here, venerable sire, here let 
us linger !' 

I believe a common protest ' is 
raised from time to time, by old 
loge.vs, tliat young men in this 
country are not what they used to 
be; and, upon my word, though I 
disregai'ded the notion a cbzen 
years ago, i begin to have snne faith 
in it now. One faculty, at least, they 
Stem to be losing— the faculty of 
enjoyment. 

Look at Young England in a 
ball-room, at the theatre, or during 
a pic-nic. Does he look happy, 
amused, or impulsed in any way? 
or is he a mere listless young dandy, 
hlasS, and bored — or affecting to be 
60— with everything and everybody 
around him ? I vow there are some 
young gentlemen of this description 
whom 1 never see without feeling a 
strong desire to slap them heartily 
between the shoulders (can't you 
imagine their horror at such a 
greeting ?), and ask what on earth 
they think worth caring for. Early 
in the last decennium, we young 
fellows, whose whiskers were just 
beginning to bud, not only enjoyed 
life, but didn't mind showing that 
we enjoyed it. Our tastes were none 
of the most intellectual, I am afraid. 
We courted the muses after a rough 
and ready fashion— over pipes of 
bird's-eye and tankards of pale alo. 
There weren't so many novels to 
read then as there are now; but 
somehow I fancy they had better 
stuff in them. I know we looked 
forward eviry month to the appear- 
ance of Mr. Thackeray's two yellow 
leaves, and Mr. Dickens's two gr; en 
leaves, with a zest which is un- 
known to the rising generaHon. 
There was not a chapter in ' David 
Copperfield' that we didn't dis- 
cuss, laughing at Peggotty and Mr. 
Micawber, indignant with Uriah 
Heep, pitying poor little Dora, and 
deeply touched by the fate of hand- 
some, reckless, proud, misguided 
Stur forth. Pendennis we voted 
somewhat of a prig ; but his friend, 
George Warrington — was not that a 
chaiacter to study, to almire, and 
emulate? I believe when the great 
satirist of our day, in his profound 
•world-wisdom, sketched that life- 
like portrait, half the interest with 



which he invested it was due to 
the fact that he was unconsciously 
describing himself. Only a few of 
us had kept up our Latin; and 
T^aikesmere, of the State Sinecures 
Office (who went up from East- 
minster to Osford, but left that 
university, for reasons which need 
not here be named, without taking 
his degree), was mighty apt with 
his quotations from Horaco when 
we met at tlie Cimbrian Stoies to 
dine, or sat gossiping round some 
third-floor fireplace in the Temple. 
' Nunc est bil>eudum !' he used to 
cry, blowing off the froth from his 
pewter; and most of the young 
artists who heard him, not having 
themselves had the advantage, as 
the phrase is, of a classical educa- 
tion, regarded that thriftless repro- 
bate as a miracle of wit and learn- 
ing. But when we came to talk of 
books in our own mother-tongue — 
of English poets, from Chaucer 
down to Mr. Tennyson— my good- 
ness, what a chattel ing there was! 
what a fierce puffing of three- 
penny cheroots ! what an outpour 
of earnest, frank, and beer-inspired 
arguments! 

The Cimbrian Stores was an 
old-fashioned tavern, where an 
eighteenpenny ordinary was held 
at six o'clock. The bitter ale (and a 
very decent tap too) came to four- 
pence, and one ga\'e twopence more 
to the waiter, which, you see, ex- 
actly made up the two shillings — a 
modest but sutficient item in our 
daily expenses. I've had worse 
dinners in my time, I can tell you. 
They gave us soup or fish, a cut off 
the roast, vegetables, and a famous 
piece of Cheddar cheese. There was 
wine at a moderate tariff for those 
who liked it. Mr. Vokins, the 
respected landlord, took the chair 
precisely as the quaint old maho- 
gany-caed clock in the coiner 
struck Ihe hour, and, rap()ing the 
table with his carving-knife, said 
a brief but impressive grace. It 
was a snug and cosy little set that 
gathei'ed round that table. A few 
middle-aged personal friends of 
Mr. V. sat right and left of him. On 
the subject of their respective pro- 
fessions I was then, and am still, 
completely in the dark. They en- 



Becolledtons of a Bachelor. 



73 



tered the room jnst five minutes 
before dinner-time, and fell half 
asleep over t*!tir grog, wh(:n we 
youngsters went back to our books 
and drawing- boards, or oftener, if 
my memory doesn't deceive me, to 
the pit of some thtatre, especially 
in the winter season, when we made 
a point of visiting all the panto- 
mimes. 

I am thankful to say that I have 
not yet lost my jelish for panto- 
mimes. Burlesques, I admit, bore 
me horridly. It wasn't so with dear 
Planche's inventions. Y/is wit was 
elegant and scholar-like; ///s jokes, 
if not proloiiiid, had a genuine 
sparkle about them quite indepen- 
dent of the mere liunbh tntcir/rc; 
the stories which lie chose ior illus- 
tion were a^lmirably adapted for his 
purpose. You didn't want a break- 
down nigger dance, or an infant 
prodigy, or an optical illusion to set 
them off. The days of Vestris, the 
days of Harley, oi Mdlles. St. George, 
Reynolds, and Horton,— ^/i«i! was 
the golden age of burlesque writing 
and burlesque acting. Those artists 
played their parts as if they enjoyed 
the ijn themselves. Your modern 
actors and actresses feem only to 
condescend to theirs. They enun- 
ciate those wretched little milk- 
and-water puns as it tliey were 
ashamed of them— and well they 
may be, for, as a rule, weaker 
balderdash has never passed for 
wit. Jokes indeed ! why yoti uu'ght 
make a gross of them in an hour. 
They are not jokes — they are not 
even puns— but a silly jingle of 
sounds. The audience don't laugh 
at this stuff: they can't. I defy any 
one with a grain of sense to do so. 
They only utter a dismal groan, 
which runs round the dress-circle 
like a banshees wail. 

But a panfnmimc, a rf al, genuine, 
well-orgauized iiantimiime, with a 
regular traustbrmation scene and 
plenty of harlequinade, is a national 
institution which 1 trust may never 
become extinct. It is not an intel- 
lectual amusement, perhaps ; to 
enjoy it you need be familiar neither 
with politics nor the pages of Dr. 
Lempriere's dictionary. It is simple 
nonsense, if you wdl — but then it 
prttmds to be nothing else. We 



can't always (thank goodness) com- 
bine instruction with amusement, 
like the amiable pedagogues who 
invent geographical games, and 
playfully beguile little boys into the 
rule of three. No; a pantomime is 
solely intended to make us laugh, 
and the man who refuses to laugh 
at it once a year, and in the pre- 
sence of children, must be a gloomy 
misanthrope. For my part I con- 
fess to no little sympathy with Mr. 
Blerryman in his various escapades. 
1 like to see him purloining sausages, 
geese, and legs of mutton, and ad- 
mire the adroitness with which ho 
tr.insfers those comestibles to his 
capacious pocket. I am pleased 
when he divides the fish with Panta- 
loon, and, with a great semblance 
of fairness, reserves by far the larger 
share for himswlf. I rejoice when 
he is fired out of a cannon or pressed 
fiat in a mangle, because I know by 
exj^erience that his constitution can 
stand these triah, and that ten to 
one he will be livelier tor them in 
the next scene. As for Columbine, 
I have always regarded her as one 
of the most fascinating women in 
Christendom, and could desire no 
better late than to go through life 
with such a partner, pirouetting 
up and down the world dre.'^sed in 
a tight suit of spangles, hke that 
kicky dog Harlequin, who can leap 
into a clock-face, or disappear 
through a shop- shutter as quick as 
lightning— whenever it suits his 
convenience. 

A halo of intense respect surrounds 
the memory of those old Cimbrians 
as I picture them to myself^ seated on 
sturdy Windsor chairs, in that home- 
ly but hospitable parlour panelled 
high with English oak, and beai'ing 
on its walls fair copies of the Lely 
portraits at Hampton Court. They 
were very strong in pohtics— those 
stout and ancient Britons — a subject 
which, judging from my own ex- 
perience, interests the art-student 
but very little. So we let them say 
their say, and wag their venerable 
old heads with solemn earnestness, 
as they discussed the merits of Sit 
Robert Peel, and entered at length 
upon the great Chartist question. 

As for nous autres, we kept our 
conversation pretty much to our- 



74 



Recollections sfa Bachelor. 



eelves. Sometimes a dozen of us, 
painters, suckiug barristers, govern- 
ment-office clerks, and a medical 
student or two, would form a little 
conclave at one end of the table, and, 
content for once to spend a quiet 
evening, would sit on, gossiping, 
long after the old hahitucx of the 
I^lace (the e.vtra-ordi/ian'cs, as we 
used to call them, in playful allusion 
to the nature of the banquet) had 
toddled home. It was at one o'clock, 
I think, when Eobert, the head 
waiter, used to come in, rubbing his 
eyes, with a ' Now gennlemen, if 
you please!' the usual form of 
warning which he gave us pre- 
viously to turning off the gas. I 
fear a good deal of what military 
men call 'pipeclay,' and civilians 
' shop,' was talked on all sides, and 
the artists had the best of it. It 
■will, I believe, be admitted that the 
failing is natural to us as a class. 
Scarcely any other calling can be 
said to furnish a theme for work 
and play to the same devotees. 
When Mugwell, the ri'^iug young 
lawyer, 'goes off to Switzerland for 
the* long vacation, do you suppose 
he troubles his head with Black- 
stone on the Wengern Alp, or pops 
a brief into his pocket before step- 
ping on board the boat at Lucerne ? 
You might travel all day with those 
eminent medical celebrities, Dr. Pil- 
lington and Mr. Lancelot Probus, 
and never find out that one gentle- 
man obtained a livelihood by writing 
hieroglyphics at a guinea a page, and 
that the other would be ready at any 
moment to cut you up— not meta- 
phorically, but in the flesh — with- 
out the slightest remorse ? I have 
known even sober and unimpeach- 
able divines modify their costume 
to no small extent as soon- as they 
have crossed the Channel, exchange 
the conventional white choker for 
an easy silk neckerchief, replace the 
stern chimneypot with a comfort- 
able wideawake, and wear an ordi- 
nary shooting-coat instead of the 
more orthodox paletot. Barring a 
slight tendency to intone his con- 
versation, you would hardly recog- 
nize his reverence in the fraiik and 
genial talker who sits next you at 
the table d'hote. If our young 
clergy have their little failings they 



certainly do not intrude ecclesiastical 
intelligence upon you between the 
wine and walnuts, tliat is, unless 
you begin the subject. But what 
does an artist like to talk aliout so 
much as his art? How delighted 
he is sure to be if, agreeing with 
the theories which he |)fopounds, 
yoi; endorse his opinion that Madder 
Brown is a great genius! With 
wliat mingled pity and. ccntempt ho 
will itgard you it yoii liai)pen to 
ad mile the landscapes of Stipplerl 
' What, my dear fellow, that man's 
work like nature ? Nonsense I I 
tell you there isn't a bit of nature in 
it! It's the feeblest, most common- 
place stuff you ever saw ! I don't 
suppose he ever drew anything but 
a cork correctly in all his life! 
Colour, indeed ! the fellow's got no 
sense of colour in him. That fore- 
ground of his thing last year— hung 
on the line too, by Jove!— was no- 
thing but a sheer piece of cabbage 
from Fogley's picture, and as for 

his greens ' &c., dkc. 

The artist-diners at the Cimbrian 
Stores outnumbered all the others 
put together. Law and medicine 
held their own sometimes ; and 
when the gossip turned on general 
literature, we met on common 
ground. But art was the favourite 
subject of conversation, or ' jaw,' in 
the polite language ot the Cim- 
brians. Our occasional visitors, per- 
haps, found it a little too much of a 
good thing sometimes, hut most of 
them were very good-tempered on 
this point, and listened in meek 
astonishment to tlie astounding ex- 
press-ions of sentiment which came 
pouring forth from our lips in a 
fragrant cloud of tobacco. Once, 
and once only, was there any marked 
or oftensive allusion to this habit, 
when that mufi', Piaikesmere, would 
insist on bringing his friend, young 
Tuttleigh Hunter, also of the 
S-nec-ie Office, to dine with us. 
The idiot came in evening dress, 
with a jewelled shirt-front, antl 
looked round upon our tweed coats 
and hairy faces with a mixed look 
ot surprise and contempt. Wu 
were civil enough to him at first, 
but he scarcely deigned to speak I;) 
one oi us, and, winking at Eaikes- 
mere after dinner (he had been 



Becollediona of a Bachelor, 



(l^ill1^ins pretty freely), remarked 
that tlit:ie was a d— d smell of paiut 
in the loom. I don't think any one 
of us would have seen the allusion, 
but that the fool began to chuckle 
(as fools will) when he had uttered 
tliis spleiuliil piece of witticism. 

I was sittinj; just opposite him, 
and my old schonlfellow, Dick Dew- 
berry, of the Middle Temple, was 
by my siile. Dick had been at 
Oxford with Tultleigh, and knew 
his line. Moiv over, Dick was an 
amateur painter of no inconsiderable 
merit, and had a fellow-feeling for 
our cause. 

'I beg your pardon, sir,' cries 
Mr. Dewheriy, -very stiffly, across 
the table ; ' I think you said that ' 

' That there was a smell of paint. 
Yes, I did,' sa.vs the grinning dandy; 
' perhaps you don't object to it ?' 

' To which, sir, the paint or your 
remark?' asks Dick, pretty smartly. 

Eaikesmere turned crimson. 

' 'Pon my life I don't know,* 
drawled Hunter. ' You seem to 
take offence. Are you a painter?' 

* Why, no, sir, but I'm a gentle- 
man,' cries Dick, lighting his cigar ; 
' and a few of my friends here are 
both.' 

' Then I s'pose you're accustomed 
to paint,' sneers Hunter, unabashed. 

Eaikesmere was n^ldging his el- 
bow, and telliug him to shut up. 

' Perhaps so,' retorts Dick ; ' but 
there are some things we are not 
accustomed to, and don't mean to 
endure. Eaikesmere, if your friend 
wants the fi esli air, there's plenty of 
it down stairs in the street.' 

Tuftleigli, pouring out another 
glass of wine, muttered something 
about a public room being public 
property, and that he'd be !)lanked 
before he moved to oblige anybody. 
He wasgetting rapidly drunk. Dew- 
berry rang the bell. 

' Eohert,' said he, when the waiter 
made liis appearance, ' is the bil- 
liaril-rooin engaged ?' 

' Not a soul but the marker in it, 
sir,' says old Bob. 

' Very well. Then what do you 
say to a game of pool, gentlemen ?' 

We all started up, glad of the 
opportunity to avoid a row, and 
left this imcivilest of civil servants 
alone with his friend. Eaikesmere 



came after us with an ample apology, 
but it was the last time he ventured 
to bring one of his dandiacal ac- 
quaintances to dine with us. 

* Confounded puppy 1' growled 
Dewberry, when he had got back 
to his chambers ; ' I wish I had 
punched his head. I would if he 
could have stood wp and taken care 
of himself. There's no love lost 
between us, I promise you.' 

'Ever seen him before?' I asked, 
for I felt sure there was some old 
grudge rankling in Mr. Dewberry's 
bosom. 

'Well, yes, I have,' said Dick, 
somewhat mysteriously. ' He was 
pointed out to me at the Crystal 
Palace last Thursday.' 

' By whom ?' said I. 

Mr. Dewberry blushed a little, 
and, in reply, asked me whether I 
could keep a secret. 

' To be sure, especially when a 
lady is in the case,' I said, for the 
honest fellow had turned as red as 
a peony, and I saw at once that we 
were on delicate ground. 

* The fact is, Jack,' continued 
D. D., ' that that fellow has been 
annoying a very great friend of 
mine for some time past, and in 
such a way that it would be very 
awkward, and, in fact, almost im- 
possible for her— you're right, it is 
a lady — 01 for me, on her behalf, to 
take any notice of it.' 

I now ventured to ask for a full 
explanation, having in the mean- 
time mixed myself a glass of toddy, 
at Mr. Dewberry's express desire. 

' You must know, then,' said 
Dick, after a pull at his own tum- 
bler, 'that 1 have some friends 
living at Kensiugton, not far from 
where this fellow. Hunter, lives. 
In tact, they attend the same ctiurch 
of St Didymus. Their pew is in 
one ot the aisles, and he generally 
manages to get a seat close by. 
Well, fancy, for some weeks past the 
horrid snob has been in the habit ol 
staring in an impudent manner 
every Sunday during service at 
this lady, who is very young, yon 
know, .lack, and — ahem! — really 
very pretty ; and she hasn't any 
father or brother, by the way — yes, 
by Jove! in such a manner as really 
to annoy her very much, and she 



76 



Recollections of a Bachelor. 



has 'tried to frown him down, but 
he won't be frowned down, and 
keeps on staring worse than ever. 
Now isn't it a disgusting shame, 
and don't you think it ought to be 
put a stop to in some way or an- 
other ?' 

'Most decidedly,' said I. 'Couldn't 
you call him to account yourself, or 
send a message by Rai'.resmere ?' 

' Wliy, no,' cries Dick; 'that's 
just the rub. I'd do that directly if 
I might, but Miss Pet worth won't 
let me ; and when one comes to 
think of it, you know, Jack, it 
would be rather awkward to mix a 
lady's name up with such an aifair 
at all ; because, of course, he'd deny 
that he meant to be rude, and say 
it was an accident, or something of 
that kind, and so get off without 
receiving his deserts. I want to 
teach him a lesson which he shan't 
forget in a hurry.' 

'Well, what do you propose?' I 
asked. 

' Why,' continued Mr. Dewberry, 
' I've been thinking the matter over 
lately, and I see only one way of 
tackling it. It appears that Mr, 
Hunter's rudeness is not confined to 
one object. He has annoyed other 
ladies in the same way. Now I 
don't like the notion of anonymous 
letters, but really in a case of this 
kind I think the end would justify 
the means. He seems to be such a 
donkey, that I really think if he re- 
ceived a letter written in a woman's 
hand he would believe it came from 
one of those ladies whom he is 
always ogling, and then we could 
make as much fun of him as we 
chose.' 

' I confess I don't exactly see 
how,' said I. 

' Why, you old stupid,' cries Dick, 
' don't you see that a man of this 
kind would be vain enough to keep 
any appointment anywhere, from 
the top of the monument to the 
bottom of the Thames Tuimel, in 
the fond belief that a lady had fallen 
in love with him, if he thought he 
was going to meet her. Supposing 
the rendezvous chosen was the 

Temp:e Gardens ' 

' And you prepared with a tremen- 
dous horsewhip, I suppose,' said I. 
' Why, no/ retorts Mr. Dewberry, 



'that wouldn't be exactly fair — to 
inveigle a man, cad as he is, into 
a quiet place, and then lick him at 
one's leisure. No; I'm not going 
to do that. But there's nothing in 
the world to prevent liis becoming a 
fund of amusement to us as he 
struts about waiting for his imagi- 
nary Dulcinea, while we are quietly 
watching and laughing at him from 
these windows.' 

* Capital notion, upon my word,' 
observes Mr. Dewberry's humble, 
servant. ' But it't; easier said than 
done. Mr. Hunter mayn't be quite 
such a fool as he looks.' 

'We can but try,' answers D. D 
' Suppose we put out a bait to begin 
with. We might sketch out a pre- 
liminary note, asking him to give 
evidence of the sincerity of his affec- 
tion in some sign wliich I should be 
able to recognize.' 

'And when are these documents 
to be drawn upV I aslced. 

'There is no time ' said Mr. Dew- 
berry, fetching an inkstand from a 
side table, ' like the pre.senfc.' 

Down we sat accordingly, and in 
the course of half an hour the fol- 
lowing billet was indited in a deli- 
cate female hand, on a sheet of 
superfine Bath post. 

' Sir, — The experience which a 
nature such as yourfi must ere this 
have derived from a contemplation 
of the confiding impulses to which 
a ivomatis heart is occasionally sub- 
ject may, I trust, be deemed some 
excuse for the exceptional character 
of this communication. It were im- 
possible i)t me to witness iveek after 
loc.ek the jiattering, because unsoli- 
cited, attention witli which you re- 
gard the writer of these lines with- 
out becoming aware that yoia take 
an interest in her welfare which has 
not been -may I say— altogether 
tmappreciated ? Should uiy suspi- 
cions— 1 had nearly written my 
hopes — be not without fonuilation, 
will you kindly oblige me by wear- 
ing a pea-green tie (my favourite 
colour) r(juud your neck on Sunday 
next? Aftt )■ ^ Cling it I shall feel 
free to tell you inoi-e. 
' Till then I remain, 

' I'our unknown friend, 
' Belinda. 



Recollections of a Bachelor. 



'P.S. Isn't Belinda a pretty- 
name? I'm afraid yoii won't think 
mine half so pretty mlun you lotuw 
it 1' 

' By J(>ve I don't think he would 



if he 



enow it/ says Dick, laugh- 



ing. ' Ciipihil note upou my word, 
in th(j bent style of a Complete Let- 
ter-writer, with plenty of luider- 
lining. If he believes tliaf, he will 
deserve any thiug he gets. Of course 
next Sunday I shall go to St. Didy- 
raus and see if the bait has taken.' 

' Do you intend to tell the young 
lady'?' I asked. 

'Not a word, my dear fellow, not 
a word,' said Dick, 'and for the best 
possible reason, tliat she would 
highly disapprove of the whole pro- 
ceeding. Besides, what good would 
it do? At present the note may 
have come from any oue of the girls 
to whom he has " made eyes." But 
if I told Miss P she would cer- 
tainly betray herself by blusliing or 
showing some ccmfusion next Sun- 
day, and then the whole thing would 
be spoiled. No, I must not com- 
promise her in any way. What a 
joliy sell it will be, though, for him, 
if he falls into the trap ! Can't you 
fancy liim in his pea-green tie? I 
chose that colour because he usually 
wears crimson silk.' 

Well, a week after the above con- 
versation Dick and I met again at 
his chambers by appointment. He 
told me that Mr. Hunter had obeyed 
the request so literally that he 
thought if we had begged him to 
wear a bonnet instead of a hat we 
might have expected compliance. 
The time was now come for a second 
letter, which was couched in the 
following elegant language. 

* Sib,— How can I express to you 
in adequately eanips^ terms the great 
satisfaction, nay, the pleasure, which 
I felt in recognizing on your part, 
through the medium of a sign which 
I myself had suggested, an evidence 
of what, until I kiiew it, I did not 
dare to anticipate? I am going 
with my aunt (an old maid, very 
kind in her loay, but unfortunately 
indifferent to the feelings of young 
people) into the City on Tuesday 
next, and I will try to be in the 
Temple Gardens between two and 



three in the afternoon. I know it 
is indiscreet in me to say this, but I 
feel confident that I can rely on your 
secrcy and good faith. Peihops I 
may be enabled to tell you t!iis in 
person, but if not I am sure you will 
believe 
'Your unknown but sn? cere friend, 
' Belinda.. 

'P.S. If I am unfortunately de- 
tained until four or half-past you 
won't nnnd, will you ? What a 
lovely colour that pta-green tie was, 
and Iww ludl it bicume you! Of 
course / couldn't luiih propriety take 
any notice of you, but I felt con- 
scious that you had not forgotten 
me.' 

'I'm afraid he'll see through it,* 

said Dick, as he folded up the letter. 

'However, old fellow, you'll turn 

up here at any rate on Tuesday, and 

we'll keep a look-out for the young 

gentleman.' 

* * * * 

On Tuesday, the — th of January, 
185- (you see I purposely refrain 
from giving the date in full, out of 
consideration for Mr. Tuftleigh Hun- 
ter's feelings, as he may, for augiit I 
know, by this time be married, and 
have become the father of a family: 
if so, it will be far better for Mrs. 
T. H.'s happiness if she remains ia 
ignorance of her husband's ante- 
cedents), on this bleak and frosty 
winter's day, as I was saying, two 
young and notaltogether ill-favoured 
Englishmen might have been seen 
ensconced behind the ample folds of 
a red curtain which decorated a 
window in one of those qnaint but 
historically interesting windows that 
command a view of the Temple Gar- 
dens. A pile of calf-bound tomes 
piled in careless confusion on an 
adjoining table indicated the legal 
studies in which one at least of the 
striplings was ostensibly engaged. 
But the remains of an nnexception- 
ably grilled sttak, and of what had 
once been a symiiiotiieal pyramid 
of mashed potato, flanked by a tan- 
bard of foaming stout would have 
inspired the most careless observer 
with a conviction that both these 
young gentlemen had lunched, while 
a recently-opened box ot cigdis, and 
a delicious perfume which hung 



78 



Recollections of a Bachelor. 



upon the noonday air, suggestive of 
the well-known Havannah plant, 
might have been accepted in evi- 
dence that the less necessary but 
more refined wants of civilized life 
were being amply satis Red.* 

' How goes the time, Jack '?' asked 
Mr. Dewberry, blowing rings of 
smoke out of an elegantly-carved 
meerschaum pipe. ' 1 let my watch 
fall in the racket-court, yesteniay, 
and broke the mainspring, I think.' 

' Ten miuutes past two,' said I, 
after consulting my own chrono- 
meter. 

' Then I give him up,' said Dick, 
rather gloomily ; ' but hark ! what 
is that strilcing now ? You're a 
little fast, I believe, like some of my 
other friends. It is but just two 
o'clock, and— hallo, why there he 
is, I declare. Punctuality is not 
only the soul of business, but the 
very quintessence of confiding affec- 
tion : and I say, my dear Jack, do 
look here,' adds Mr. Dewbtrry, 
bursting into a roar of laughter, 
'I'm hanged if he hasn't sported the 
pea-green tie, as a delicate attention. 
Ah! my exquisite Mr. Tuftlcigh, I 
really begin to pity you. Tliis is 
verdant with a vengeance.' 

It was too true. The misguided 
young man had apjieared in full iig, 
and clad after a manner anything 
but suited to the inclemency of the 
weather, in order, I presume, to show 
off his figure to the best advantage. 
He was walking about with the air 
of a stage gallant, evidently rejoiced 
that he had arrived before his «?- 
amorata. After he had strolled up 
and down for about a quarter of an 
hour, however, he pulled out his 
watch and began to walk quicker, 
and no wonder, for it was int/^nsely 
cold. Another interval, somewhat 
shorter than before, having elapsed, 
the elegant Tuftleigh again ascer- 
tained the time, and, to make as- 
surance doubly sure, referred to a 
piece of paper which he drew from 
his coat-ijocket, and which we felt 

* The coiiiposition of this laj-t paragiMph 
is not, I admit, in my usual style. But it 
is a style which, at the period ref^'iTed to, 
found so mucli favour amono; a certain 
class of Kni;lish novel readers that I felt an 
irresistible temptation to imitate it to the 
best of my humble aljility. 



convinced was the letter that had 
lured him to his fate. Mr. Dew- 
berry and I, who \\ atched these pro- 
ceedings with unremitting attention 
(except, indeed, during the brief mo- 
ments in ^^llich we reapplied our- 
selves to bottled stout), could not 
help remarking that the longer Mr. 
Tuftleigh stayed, the more fre- 
quently he looked at his watch, and 
the oftener he looked at his watch 
the further he extended h'swalk up 
and down. At la^t it liegau to grow 
dark, and Mr.Tuftleigh (we conld see) 
began to grow impatient. He quick- 
ened his pace, stamping on the 
ground as he went, and warming 
the upper part of his frame after 
the fashion of London cabmen, 
who in winter time ajipcar to be 
perpetually rehearsing with great ve- 
hemence the embracing of imaginary 
friends At last, when it was be- 
coming almost too dark to see any- 
thing, Sir. Tuftleigh disappeared, 
after having afforded us infinite 
amusement. 

'Well, what is the next thing to 
be done ?' said Mr. Dewberry, after 
the half-hour had struck, and our 
hero had disai^pcared. ' Do you 
think he'd stand another letter?' 

'I should hardly think so; but 
you know best, Dick,' said I. 

After a short consultation we 
wrote another note, with many apo- 
logies from the fair unknown, stating 
that her aunt had disajipointed her, 
and that she had been unable to 
make her way that afternoon to- 
wards the Temple Gardens, but pro- 
mising faithfidly to be there the fol- 
lowing Friday at the same hour, 
hoping to meet her correspondent, 
to whom she (of course) owed ten 
thousand obligations, &c. &c. 

I must confess that Mr. Hunter 
showed a sound discretion in taking 
no notice of the last epistle. But 
we could not allow the matter to 
drop here. It was absolutely neces- 
sary to put the ingenuous youth on 
his guard for the future. lie had 
been allowed to take an unconscious 
part in this little farce. It now re- 
mained for us to read him the moral. 
liOtter No. 3 was in these words. 
'Sir, — Your disregard of 'Be- 
linda's' last assignation is tolerably 
good evidence^, that you are now 



A Week in a Country House. 



J9 



aware how completely her first ap- 
pointment made you the victim of a 
well-deserved hoax, 

' You have for some time past 
been in the habit of annoying more 
than one lady by a species of rude- 
ness which is all the more cowardly 
because it is difficult to define or 
bring home to you, and that, too, at 
a time and in a place which render 
your offence doubly inexcusable. 
Without entering into further par- 
ticulars it is sufficient for you to 
know that these ladies have found 
a champion in one who, sorrv as he 
would be to proceed to extremities, 
will assuredly take an early oppor- 
tunity of calling you to account in 
a practical and not very pleasant 
manner if you have the temerity, 
after this v^^arnipg, to continue your 
impertinencies. And, believe me, 
nothing but my desire to save these 
ladies from further annoyance has 
saved you, up to this time, from the 
chastisement which you richly de- 
serve. It is scarcely necessary for 



me to add that they are quite un- 
aware of the means which I have 
thought iit to adopt for their pro- 
tection. 
' I have the honour to be, sir, 
' Your most obedient servant, 
' A Rod in Pickle.' 

The effect of this last epistle was 
so satisfactory that Mr. Tuftleigh 
Hunter ceased to frequent the 
church of St. Didymus entirely, and 
I trust has since abstained from the 
offensive practice of ogling alto- 
gfctlier. That ladies, especially when 
they happen to be young and pretty, 
are not utterly averse to being 
looked at with respectful admiration 
I candidly admit. Indeed, judging 
from my own experience, I have 

always found that , but there, I 

won't go on further. You see, I'm 
turned of thirty, and the subject 
awakens sentiLaents in my heart 
which lead me to decline revealing 
all the Eecollections of a Bachelor! 



A WEEK IN A COUNTRY HOUSE. 



WHEN the London season is 
over, and the dying notes of 
the session become distinct, all the 
world rushes off hither and thither 
to obtain relief from the trammels 
of London life, or to repair the 
ravages of late hours at watering- 
places at home or abroad, or to 
enter into all the healthy pursuits 
of a country life, and enjoy the re- 
laxation which they afford, or to 
comply with the rules of fashion, 
which prescribe that no one who 
aspires to the distinction of belong- 
ing to the fiishionable world can 
remain in town after a certain time, 
and also retain his reputation and 
position as a member of that most 
exclusive circle. There is nothing 
more absurd than the extent to 
which some persons bow to the 
decrees of fashion. Instances are 
by no means rare in which persons 
who have been detained in London 
by some unforeseen necessity or by 
accident during the ' recesses ' of 
Easter or Whitsuntide, have been 
known to draw down their blinds 



or shut their shutters, and live in 
some remote or back part of their 
house, that they may be supposed 
to have complied with the usages 
of ' society,' and to have left London 
for their ' seat in the country.' 
When Eotten Row is no longer fre- 
quented, and the throng of carriages 
in Bond Street and Regent Street 
is so diminished as not to interfere 
with the traffic nor peril the lives 
of the passers-by, and a certain 
carelessness in the arrangements 
of the shop-windows betrtiy the fact 
that the rich and idle are gone 
beyond the reach of their tempta- 
tion, country houses become in 
their turn the centres of festivities 
and of that social intercour.'-:e which 
knits families together. During 
the most bewitching time of the 
year the claims of the country 
have been overlooked, and it is 
therefore but fair that they should 
be recognized at last. In London 
'society' is so exif/einif in her de- 
mands upon those who go in fw it' 
that people become her slaves, lose 



80 



A Week in a Country House. 



mach of their individuality, and are 
utterly unlike tlieiu8elves. Few 
people can withstand tho ordeal of 
a London life. The ceaseless ronnd 
of dis^sipation and the multitude of 
interests, great and small, wliich 
constitute its claims, are so engross- 
ing, that the instances are rare in 
which the same aspect is main- 
tained in town and country. None 
are made to feel this more keenly 
than country cousins who come up 
to IjOiiil 'M, at rare intervals, for a 
short time to see the sights and 
hear the news, in the expectation of 
finding their friends equally inte- 
rested in them and their affairs, as 
devoted to tliemasever, and willing 
to resume the tliread of their in- 
tercourse where it had hcen broken 
off. Vain exiiectation ! Every one 
knows that in a vast metropolis like 
London, society is divided and sub- 
divided into a multitude of different 
cliques or circles, and that each 
one is distinct from the otliers, and 
that every one wlio lives outside 
any particular circle is as much an 
alien to it as if he lived in Japan. 
Hence it arises that country 
cousins do not fiml themselves on 
the same level with their relations 
to whom they are an invaluable ac- 
quisition in the country, and by 
■whom they are fehd ; but seem 
suddenly t(j have dropped oiit of the 
mind and heart of those who suffer 
themselves to be engrossed and 
carried away by the rapid whirl of 
a London season. London fine 
ladies and gentlemen are quite a 
class sni (/t inn's. They live in a 
world of their own, obey a law of 
their own, and speak a language of 
their own. Excitement follows ex- 
citement, and anything like com- 
fortable and rational intercourse is 
scarcely known among those who 
give themselves up entirely to the 
claims and usages of society. It is 
in country houses, where there is 
less of that cxclnsiveness which pre- 
vails in London, and is its bane, that 
we niust look for that interchange 
of thoughts and ideas which makes 
society pleasant. We do not, of 
course, pretend to deny that Lon- 
don contains within itself all that 
is necessary to constitute tho most 
agreeable society in the world. 



Where so much talent and such 
varied gifts are collected together it 
could not bo otherwise; but wo 
maintain that, as a rule, the fashion- 
able world is not tlie soil in which 
that hii^hest order of intellectual 
gifts nourishes, nor the atmosphere 
which is the most conducive to its 
free expansiou Although eveiy 
country huu-o has its own especial 
friends, and its hihif-ui.'s belong 
more or less to a particular class, 
there is moie geniality, more reality, 
more thoroughness in tho inter- 
course. It is more earnest, more 
human, and therefore pleasanter 
and more satisfactory. Jt is not 
the same hollow, outside work 
which goes on in London, and it is 
as Well that there should bo seasons 
of interruption to that kind of life 
which fosters what is artificial, and 
must in the end stifle nature. 

It was after a season of unusual 

gaiety, that Mrs. D and her son 

left Ltmdou and went on their own 
devices to recruit or amuse them- 
selves. i\Irs. D went, in the 

first instance, to the seaside to re- 
store the colour to her faded cheeks 
and renovate the strength which 
had been impaired by what she 
considered to be tho duties she owed 
to society. She was a devoted mo- 
ther, and her chief thought and 
study was how to advance the 
interests of her well-beloved son, 
Arthur; but shemanat:ed with con- 
siderable tact and eleverness to 
combine this with providing for 
herself as much amusement as she 
could enjoy. Arthur duly appre- 
ciated his mother's gifts and talents, 
which xvere considerable, and had 
alwnvs secured for her a ready ad- 
mission to the best society ; nor was 
he less touched by her devotion to 
himself. Under her protecting 
wing he had become a welcome 
guest in many pleasant houses, and 
Mrs. D showed her worldly wis- 
dom and savoirfdirf wlien at her in- 
stigation they parted company for a 
time with a mutual understanding 
to keep each other du courant 
of all that happened. Their letters 
became a source of the greatest 
amusement to thera. Their position, 
age, and circumstances, as well as 
the different society into which they 



A WteJc in a Country House. 



81 



went, secured for tliem the greatest 
variety of inciilents, wbich they were 
well able to nuike the most of. 

It was not long after IMrs. D • 

had left Brighton, where she devoted 
herself exclusively to the care of her 
health, that she yielded to the many 
pressing invitations which she had 
recoi veil from her old friends the Gar- 
ringtons. The Garringtons were plea- 
sant people; they were hospitable, 
and knew how to make the best use 
of the appliances within their reach. 
They had children in abundance, of 
all sizes and ages, and two grown- 
np daughters, who were among the 
most popular girls in Eelgravia, 
were the immediate cause of those 
dinners and concerts and the's dan- 
Aiintes for which the Garringtons had 
made themselves fomous. These 
young ladies were always surrounded 
by a knot of Cumlieres servantes, 
who were ever ready to fetch and 
carry, but these retrievers were for 
the most part poor, younger sons 
studying at the bar. However, Lady 
Garrington was not disquieted on 
their account, for she had too much 
conQdence in her daughters' common 
sense, and in the principles she had 
inculcated, to have the slightest fear 
of their making a wrong move in 
the game of life which lay before 

them. Our friend Mrs. D was 

a great acquisition in a country 
house, for she possessed a fund of 
good humour, was always ready to 
bo of use, had a remarkable talent 
for conversation, as well as other 
resources, which made her the lifo 
and soul of whatever society she 
frequented. It was soon after her 
arrival at Garrington Manor that 
she sat herself down to write to ' her 
boy,' as she always called her son. 
lier letters were more or less of a 
journal, but as they are descriptive 
of the scenes in which she played so 
conspicuous a part, we will let them 
speak for themselves. 

' Mr DEAU BHY, — Your mother has 
so much confidence in your care for 
number one that she will not begin 
her letter in the old style, "this 
comes hopping you are well as it 
leaves me;" but I will tell you my 
adventures since I left the Pail Mall 
of the seaside. Here I am at last 



at Garrington Manor, after the many 
pressing invitations which I have 
till now left unheeded. It was by 
no means a dithcult journey, which, 
however, Eachel ' (her maid, Ed. 
L. S.) 'made even less diflicult than 
it would have been, for her pretty 
face captivated guards and porters 
to such a degree that we received the 
greatest consideration and attention 
from them, and I doubled it down 
in my memory as a thing to be re- 
membered that elderly women who 
arc addicted to travelling about 
should secure the attendance of a 
jDretty girl as lady's maid. On my 
arrival at the station I found every- 
thing ready for the removal of my- 
self, bag and baggage, to the Manor; 
and when we arrived at the door a 
bevy of the most polite and obse- 
quious servants awaited me, hasten- 
ing to relieve me of my inseparable 
bag, and assuring me that Lady 
Garrington had been anxiously ex- 
pecting me. Before I could tiu-n 
round I found myself greeted in the 
warmest manner pos:-ible by my 
lady, who would insist upon my 
coming to her own room and having 
some tea (she knew my weak point), 
away from all the raclcet and noise 
which the young people were said to 
bo making over croquet on the lawn. 
After sufficient time had been al- 
lowed for Rachel to unpack, I took 
refuge in my own room, having 
ascertained at what hour I was ex- 
pected to make my appearance. I 
found Eachel in high glee, getting 
over her duties with wonderful 
alacrity, from which I inferred that 
she had again made a favourable 
impression, and that men are the 
same everywhere. You know I al- 
ways like to be in time, and hate 
rushing down at the last moment into 
the midst of a crowd of people whom 
I don't know ; so when Rachel had 
turned me off to her satisfaction, 
and I had been properly got up a 
giiatre epinc/lcs, I de:-cended to the 
drawing-room and found that I had 
it all t» myself. Presently, how- 
ever, the door opened, and a hand- 
some youth, whom I had never seen 
before to my knowledge, sauntered 
in. It would be incorrect to say ho 
walked in, it would be more trae to 
say he rolled himself in. W e looked 



82 



A Weeh in a Country House. 



at each other, and the handsome 
youth seemed to grow afraid of me, 
for instead of approaching the part 
of the room where I sat, he rolled 
himself on towards tlie window, 
while he drew a cambric handker- 
chief from his pocket and tenderly 
smoothed his young moustache. 
Again the door opened, and a fair 
and pretty girl tripped in, looking 
light and airy as a gossamer. She 
came towards me ; I rose, we curt- 
seyed, we sqiiiiidled, and said a few 
nothings to each other, and then the 
handsome youth began to thaw in 
the presence of beauty, and we all 
talked together of la pliiie tt le 
beau tanjis till the gong sounded, 
and many steps Avere heard ap- 
proaching, and the Brownes and the 
Whites and the Garringtons all 
flocked in and greeted me. At din- 
ner the handsome youth sat on my 
right and Beauty next to him. He 
was supercilious, and she listened 
devoutly to his dull platitudes, and 
I speculated upon how small an 
amount of thoughts and ideas, when 
in combination with beaux yeux 
the tender passion can take root in 
and exist. Well, all things come to 
an end, and so did my first evening 
at Garrington Manor, which I was 
not sorry for. 

'The next morning, after having 
given spofial directions to Eachel to 
have my room ready as soon as she 
could, that I might write my letters, 
I went down to breakfast, and, to 
my dismay, found the whole party 
assembled, busily engaged in discuss- 
ing their breakfast, but in almost 
solemn silence. The Garringtons, 
pere vt mere, were absorbed in their 
letters, while the rest waited pa- 
tiently for sucli scraps of news as 
were vouchsafed to them at inter- 
vals. It was a solemn affair, and I 
l)ccame more convinced that it 
would be a wiser custom for people 
to eat their breakfast in their own 
rooms and not appear in public till 
they had been sustained and forti- 
fied by it. However, my late en- 
trance created a diversion. I found 
your letter on my plate and put it 
into my pocket after I had satisfied 
myself that you were all right No 
Booner \yas breakfast over than I 
found myself seized upon by the 



second Garrington girl, who en- 
treated me to go with ttiem. " Where 
in the name of heaven am I to go ?" 
I inquired, thinking all the while 
that I had only just come, and long- 
ing to be quiet in my own room. 
After having quelled iVliss Helen's 
energetic entreaties by an assurance 
that I would do whatever was re- 
quired of me, I found myself engaged 
to go to Vere Abbey, a beautiful old 
ruin, I was told, w.'iere it was pro- 
posed to have a pic-nic. You know 
my horror of pic-nics, where people 
try thfir best to make themselves as 
uncomfortable as they can under 
the pretence of amusing theijiselves. 
The handsome youth was attacked 
by Beauty with numberless inquiries 
whether he could make a fire of 
damp sticks and boil a kettle, and I 
was amused at his look of consterna- 
tion. However, there is no use in 
contending with the inevitable, so I 
quietly acquiesced and came down 
at the appointed hour duly equipped. 
The handsome youth and I began to 
fraternise, and I could not deny my- 
self the malicious pleasure of teasing 
him by assuming that pic-nics were 
his metier, a^d that we all looked to 
him for help luider the host of pro- 
bable difficulties which I described 
as vividly and painfully as I could, 
while he sat on thorns at the pros- 
pect before him. When the carriages 
came round we were not long in 
arranging and disposing of our party. 
We all tried to be as merry as we 
could, and, luckily for us, the sun 
shone out brightly. After lionising 
Vere Abbey, which is really a beau- 
tiful ruin belonging to the old family 
of the De Veres, we disposed of our- 
selves according to our inclinations, 
and the whole party was scattered 
here and there, on the understand- 
ing that at a given time all should 
reassemble for luncheon. I had for- 
tunately brought my drawing-book 
and prepared to sketch the ruin, 
when I was interrupted' by some of 
the younger Garringtons, who as- 
sured me they delighted in nothing 
so much as watching a person draw. 
" Had I any colours ? Oh ! yes, I see, 
there they are. May we look at 
them ?" A thousand questions were 
asked about what colours made what 
shades. "Had I a spare sheet of 



A Week in a Country House. 



83 



drawing-paper? Would I let them 
have it?" To all of which I was as 
complaisant as possible, and soon I 
saw my colour-box in a mess, my 
brushes saturated wiili water and 
paint, the spare sheet daubed over, 
and in despair I gave up the attempt 
on finding that I was expected to 
give a drawing lesson to my young 
friends, who rau off the moment 
luncheon-time drew near, leaving 
me to tidy it all as best I might. 
Then followed luncheon, when we 
sat on the damp grass or on the car- 
riage-cushions, eating cold chicken 
and pies ami salad, which is always 
on such occasions associated in my 
mind with slugs and earwigs. After 
the cravings of hunger had been 
satisfied we dispersed again, while 
the servants regaled themselves and 
packed up the knives and forks, &c., 
when we were hurried off, Lady 

G in despair that it was already 

so late, as a party of neighbours were 
expected to dinner, and unless we 
made great haste there would be 
scarcely time to dress, which was a 
subject of the greatest importance 

in Lady G 's estimation. We did 

arrive, and, happily, before the in- 
vited guests, so Lady G was 

tolerably composed, and with hasty 
glances at the clock we all rushed 
off to get ready for dinner. Rachel 
is invaluable at a pinch, and I was 
among the first to reach the drawing- 
room ; but what with the sim, the 
drive home, and the hurry of dress- 
ing, I felt scorched and anything 
but comfortable. However, it was 
all part of the play, and I was in for 
it. We were in no lack of subjects 
for conversation. Vere Abbey, its 
past history and its present state, 
was a safe subject, and you will be 
glad to hear that your mother did 
not, as you say, " put her foot into 
it." She was wonderfully cautious 
and circumspect, and I am sure 
earned for herself the reputation of 
being the most matter-of-fact of 
dames. As far as I was concerned 
all would have gone on smoothly 
enough but for one contrdemjjs. 
Something, I don't know what, per- 
haps I had canght cold from sitting 
on the damp grass, or some spiteful 
fly may have provoked my nose; 
anyhow something made me sneeze, 



and in the greatest hurry I had re- 
course to my pocket hamlkerchief, 
when to my dismay I found it was 
the one which I had had in the 
morning, and which in my hurry I 
had caught up and put into my 
pocket. It was all over paint, thanks 
to my young would-be artist friends. 

' The handsome youth looked at 
me with astonishment, and then 
hurst into a loud fit of laughter. 
Beauty was startled at such an un- 
wonted exhibition, and inquired 
into the cause, which he was quite 
unable to explain; and I, seizing 
the bull by the horns, declared 
myself to be the innocent occasion 
of it, and, making a sign to him not 
to betray me, kept them all for some 
time on the tiptoe of curiosity, 
which I at last gratified, when they 
seemed to me to be vastly disap- 
pointed that it was nothing worse. 

' The next day I thought 1 should 
have to myself; so I planned ex- 
actly what I would do, and again 
gave Rachel strict injunctions to 
have my room got ready as soon as 
possible. After breakfast was over, 
and I had seated myself in my chair, 
and had collected round me all 
that I needed, I began to comfort 
myself with the thought that I 
should have, at all events, an hour 
or two to myself, when I heard a 
gentle tap at the door, and a lovely 
child with golden hair came in, 
inquiring whether she might come 
and sit with me a little while, as 
her sisters and the governess were 
gone into the village, and her 
mamma had said that if she could 

find Mrs. D , she was sure she 

would tell her some stories; and 
mamma says no one can tell a story 
as well as you. " Will oo tell me 
one?" added she, implorii.'gly. Who 
could resist such an appeal ? So I 
looked at my books and my pen 
and ink, and all my preparations, 
and again surrendered myself to 
the inevitable, but not without a 
sigh. I moved to the open window, 
placed my young friend on a chair 
by my side, and began my story ;■ 
when again another tap at the door, 
and another child came in search 
of her sister, and entreated that she, 
too, might be allowed to remain and 
listen to the story. No one ever had 



84 



A Week in a Country Home. 



better listeners, so I ought to have 
been satisfied. I had nearly finished 
my task, when anot her knock at my 
door interrupted us, and the eldest 
of the sisters came to say that her 
mother wished me to come and sit 
with her in her room, till luncheon- 
time, if I was not otherwise en- 
gaged. At the entreaty of my young 
friends, I wound up my story and 
complied with Lady Garrington's 
request. So that morning v/as gone, 
and the afternoon was devoted to 
another excursion, after which we 
were all expected to play at croquet 
till dressing time. The next day it 
was the same thing over again. I 
got up earlier than usual, to write 
one or two letters which I could 
not put off. and after breakfast 
again took refuge in my room, in 
the hope of a few moments' peace, 
which I thought I had secured, for 
I began a letter to you, which I 
hoped I might finish before post- 
time; but at about half-past eleven 
I was interrupted by a tap at my 
door, and the door was slowly 
opened by the eldest daughter, who 
" hoped she did not disturb me," 
that I was not particularly engaged, 
because "mamma" had sent her to 
ask whether I would make a sketch 
of her. She already had one which 
I had done, of her eldest son, who 
was then with his regiment in India, 
and she would so like me to do one 
of her; and she went on to ask 
whether I would object to Beauty's 
coming too, to watch how 1 did it. 
Of course I was only too glad to be 
of use, and begged her to go and 
fetch her friend Beauty, while I got 
my materials ready. So, in sheer 
vexation of spirit, I put the letter I 
had begun to you into the fire, and 
got my paper, and chalk, and paints 
all ready for the operation. 1 knew 
well enough what Beauty's coming 
meant. It was only a prelude to 
my making a sketch of her ; so I 
prepared with a good grace to re- 
ceive all the hints which oozed out 
in due time. This occupied me the 
remainder of my mornings whilo I 



stayed at the Manor; and as ilm 
afternoons were devoted to driving 
and croquet, and the evenings to 
dancing and singing, I had no tinw 
to myself, but was kept in a con- 
tinual whirl of occupation which 
had nothing to do with the many 
things I wanted to do. Poor Lady 
Garrington! she is kindness itselt, 
and very warmhearted, but she 
does not realize the fact that peoplts 
have their own interests and pur- 
suits which they may wish to attend 
to. She has an idea that there 
cannot be any happiness in the 
world without some sort of gaiety ; 
that the moment breakfast has been 
disposed of a carte must be ar- 
ranged for the disposal of every 
hour of the day ; and that a country 
house must be the abode of dulness 
unless one is always on the trot 
hunting after amusement and diver- 
sion of some kind. There never can 
be any repose where she is, and I am 
no longer surprised at the way in 

which Lord G shuts himself up 

in his own room and is scarcely 
visible except at meal-times. Yet 
her kindness is so great, and she 
has so much real desire to make 
her guests happy, and takes so much 
trouble to effect it (though it must 
be confessed that she likes to do it 
her own way and not theirs), that 
one cannot quarrel with her, or be 
otherwise than touched by her wish 
to make her house pleasant.' * * * 

The remainder of Mrs. D 's 

letter related to matters which con- 
cerned only herself and her son, and 
possess no interest for others. Her 
week at Garrington Manor is a fair 
sample of life at some country 
houses, where there are marriage- 
able daughters, and where frantic 
efforts are being made for the 
amusement of the company. To 
those who are neither in their pre- 
miere jeuncsse nor have daughters 
on hand, such a life is a positive 
penance, from which one is only 
too glad to escape in spito of all 
its hospitality. 



Visits in Country Houses. 



85 



VISITS IN COUNTRY HOUSES. 



No. II. 



WHEN Mrs. D and her son 
separated after the London 
season, each bent upon as full an 
enjoyment of country life as could 
be obtained, they made a compact 
to acquaint each other with their 

experiences. Mrs. D fulfilled 

her part of the contract in the letter 
which she wrote to her son Arthur 
from the Garringtons, in which 
she described very vividly one 
phase of society in country houses. 
Arthur's first visit was to one of his 
oldest friends, who was a millionaire 
and a large landed proprietor in the 
West of England. Sir Archibald 
Edmons'one had been Arthur's 
friend at Eton and at Oxford, and 
now it rarely happened that either 
of them went to Eichmond, or Ascot, 
or Epsom, or, in fiict, any party of 
pleasure in which the other was not 
liis companion. Scarcely a day 
passed without their mieting either 
at their respective homes, or in 
Rotten Row, or at their clubs. No 
brothers were ever more insepa- 
rable; and the first move which 
Arthur made out of London was in 
the direction of Garzington Hall, 



where' he was to pick up Sir Archi- 
bald and accompany him to Scotland. 
Garzington Hall was a large mo- 
dern house, situated in the mid-st of 
a fine old park which had belonged 
to the EdmoDstones for generations. 
It was a place to be proud of, for it 
was very beautiful, surrounded by 
the most magnificent woods, and, 
from some points, commanding very 
fine views of the sea, wliich was 
about eight miles off as the crow 
flies. Sir Archibald was about a 
year older than his friend. His 
house was still the home of his 
brother and sisters, who did all they 
could to make it pleasant to their 
brother and his friends. He deserved 
this of them, for there never was a 
more dutiful son nor a kinder 
brother; and his great wish was 
that when he came of age there 
should be no change in the old 
ways. Often had his mother re- 
monstrated, saying it was better for 
her to get out of the way betimes 
before his wife came to turn her 
out ; to which remonstrance he in- 
variably replied, ' Time enough, 
mother, time enough, I love mj 



86 



■■:;'.:«> V,;., v. 

Visile in Country Houses, 



liberty too well to part with it just 
yet.' 

The Edmonstone family consisted 
of three sisters and a younger 
brother, who was still at Eton, 
They were a racketting lot. Two of 
the sisters were ' out,' and the third 
and youngest on the very verge of 
that interesting moment in every 
young lady's life, when she bids 
adieu for ever to tlie scho;)l room 
and mixes in the gay and giddy 
world. They were rather ' fast,' and 
ratber noisy; greater favourites with 
the gentlemen than with those of 
their own sex, who were somewhat 
afraid of tbein. They could ride 
weU, and across country, too, some- 
times; they could pull an lar across 
the lake which formed the southern 
boundary of ttie garden ; thoy could 
skate, and had been known to shoot, 
and were not bad sliots either. They 
were almost invincible at croquet; 
and the knack with which they sent 
their adversaries' hall flying across 
the ground was the envy of many 
of the gentlemen. Thev could 
play at billiards, too ; and yet the 
more feminine accomplishments of 
singing and di\awing had not been 
by any means neglected. Their 
mother, Lady Theodosia, was a very 
clever woman— rather blue, but de- 
cidedly clever and original, and 
with a horror of conventionalisms 
which prevented her seeing any 
objection to many of the amuse- 
ments in which her daughters ex- 
celled, but for which many of her 
friends blamed her and them behind 
their backs, denouncing them as 
man ish, unladylike and noisy girls, 
and congratulating themselves and 
thanking Heaven and blessing their 
stars that thdr daughtei's had more 
regard for the cDureituuccs of society 
and for what they called ' decoium.' 
But the Bliss Eiunonstoncs were as 
good, honest, warm-hearted, and 
generous girls as could be found, 
singularly fiee from the petty jea- 
lousies which disfigure so many of 
their own age and sex. Nor were 
they by any means devoid of talent ; 
they inherited a fair share of their 
mother's cleverness, and could con- 
verse as pleasantly and rationally as 
most people and much more plea- 
santly than most girls of their age. 



They were free from maitvatsc lontc, 
and yet by no means free and easy. 
Devoted to their brother, they were 
always ready for any fun of his sug- 
ges-ting, confident that he never would 
mislead them into doing anything 
that was really unbecoming, or could 
compromise them in the remotest 
degree. Such was the family by 
whom Arthur was always well re- 
ceived as one of their brother's 
oldest and best friends. At this 
time there was a large gathering 
for certain cricket matches which 
usually came off about this time. 
To make them a more popular in- 
stitution in theneighbourhood, Lady 
Theodosia collected as many young 
people together as she could, and 
while the days were devoted to 
cricket, which was anxiously watched 
by crowds of neighbours and guests 
for whose accomuio lation marquees 
had been conveniently placed, the 
evenings were f-ptnt in talileauxand 
dancing, which left little time for 
repose, and made Garzington Hall 
the most popular place in the 
county. All the country belles 
lookoil forward to these annual 
gatherings and festivities as their 
'red-letter days;' and as specula- 
tions upon them were the j^eneral 
theme of conveisation before they 
took i^lace, so tlieir reminiscences 
were canvassed over and over again. 
It was fromJGarzington that Arthur's 
first letter was dated. 

'My dearest Mother, — You are 
woniiering why I don't write, and 
have been abusing me like a pick- 
pocket for my silence; but if you 
only knew what we have been doing 
day after day your wonder would 
turn altogether the other way. Even 
now I am uriting at 4 a.m. with 
only one eye open, the other being 
fast asleep, for I am dead tired, and 
if I had any time to thiid^ ahout 
anything I dare say I shouM tiiid 
out that I had every coneeivjibju 
ache that over-fatigue can proilncc. 
But don't let your maternal heurt 
become anxious o)i my account. 1 
am very v^ell, though nearly worn 
out with the endless racket of this 
place. Cricket by day and dancit'g 
by night leave one's legs very little 
time to rest. Luckily, Lady Theo- 



Visits in Country Houses. 



8^ 



dosia is very meroifal, and gives ns 
some law at brcakfast-tinie. I am 
generally the last, and, if I flared, 
would be later still, for, houiehow, I 
am more tired when I get up than 
when I go to bed. At about 11.30 
the wickets are pitched, and by 
12 o'clock we are at work. The 
weather has been fino, and almost 
too hot. Unluckily, I liave alway.s 
been on the Icsins,- side, but we have 
had capital matches. You will care 
more for a dcsi riptiou of thu foik, 
their names, weiglits, and colours, 
than for any accmuitof the lua'ches, 
which are the engrossing subject 
here; and yet I think you will like 
to know the sort of life it is. There 
has been a cricket match every day, 
and as it generally lusts till dressing- 
time there is really vtry little time 
for anything else. Then dinner 
is succeeded by prepaiations for 
" tableaux," which are in their turn 
followed by dancing. I honestly 
confess that I think this is too much 
of a good thing. On one or two 
occasions, when thecriiket was over 
sooner thai", usual, we were instantly 
bad in request for croquet matches, 
in which the ladies certainly ex- 
celled. Tlieo. Edmonstonsi is the 
best croquet-player I ever saw. I 
wish you could have seen how well 
she put down ttat conceited young 
puppy Parker. It was as good as a 
play. You must know that " Happy 
Parker," as he i.s called, considers 
himself an awful swell. He is rich, 
rather good-looking, and has been, 
I am told, the spoilt cliild of fortune. 
He is in the Blues, and is made a 
fuss with because he has lots of 
money, good horf^e?;, good shooting, 
and a good temper. He thinks the 
whole world is ready to be his hum- 
ble servant. He had never i^een 
at Gaizington before, and scarcely 
kncAvs Edmonstone, never saw Lady 
Thcodosia, and was once introdu.ced 
I0 the second girl, Nina, who holds 
him in special aversion. I never 
saw aiiy one so cool, free and easy, 
and off hand as he is. He swaggers 
about as if he was bent on showing 
off his paces, and behaves as if he 
was the most intimate friend of the 
family iusteal of what ho is, almost 
a stranger. One night, when Theo. 
Edmonstone had been looking after 



some of the guests, and had been 
getting partners for some of her 
country neij^hbours, and was stand- 
ing alone and apart from the dancers, 
" Happy Parker" comes up with an 
air and a grace, and in a cool, off- 
hand way frays to her, •' You're doing 
nothing; would \(m like to dance 
with me? Come aloi:g." To which 
she quietly replied, loD^ing him fidl 
in the face, " No I thank >ou; tliat 
would indted be one degree wnrso' 
than doing not ling." He looked 
awfully sold ; Imt. he had lound his 
match, for she i.s the la^t girl to 
stand any nonsen.^o of that sort, and 
it is time for him to 1 e brought to 
his bearings. You talk of not 
having a moment to you 1 self Like 
Miss i^Iiggs, jou consider you 
are always toiling, moiling, never 
"giving satisfaction, never having 
time to clean Aour.-e!f— a potter's 
wessel ;" but what would yoii think 
of this Hfe? It would kill the 
strongest man in no time at all, and 
would flog Bautii g out of the field. 
You are hunted from cricket to 
croquet, from croquet to tableaux 
and charades, and then to dancing, 
and the intervening time is devoted 
to dre>sing and dining, and you are 
lucky if you cet to litd by 4 o'clock 
A.M. ; for, after the ball, we men ad- 
journ to the smokine-rnom, where 
we wind up the festivities with 
cigars and cooling boveiages, and 
talk over the events of the day, and 
criticise some fair dcbnt'tntc who has 
blossomed for the fust time at the 
Garrington Ball. To night, the last 
of the series, we wound u]> with Sir 
Roger de Coverley, sang God save 
the Queen and Jolly Do^s all in 
chorus, and gave sundry cheers for 
Lady Theodosia and the house of 
Edmonstone. 

'But now about the "ot'^cr folk." 
The house has been as fidl as it can 
liold, and feveral men sleep over the 
stables, your humble servant among 
the number. Lord anil Lady 
Camelford and thi ir son and daugh- 
ter. Lady Bliinche Pioss and her 
husband. Lady neor,i>ina Roach and 
her two daughters, besides the^ 
Thompsons, tho.se very pretty Miss 
Nashes, and Lord and Lady Fair- 
light, and some coimtry neighbours. 
There are, of courae, a lot of men. 



88 



Visits in Country Homes. 



" loose men " as Lady would 

call them, some of whom are in- 
vited because of their skill at 
cricket. Tom Lee and young Dry- 
sfix are among the number. As 
usual, Tom Lee is the autocrat of 
the cricket-field, t'le ball-room, and 
Kmokiiig-room. He lays down the 
law in tli(^ most insufferable manner, 
and considers no one has any right 
to do anything of a ly kind without 
his permif^sion. 1 cannot imagine 
why he i^ asked everywhere, for 
very few peoplu like him, as his cool 
indifference with regard to the likes 
and dislikes of his neighbours 
almost amounts to impertinence. 
His success hist year when he was 
on the Northern Circuit has made 
him more unbearable than ever. 
But as he is too unpleasant a subject 
to dwell upon, I will tell you about 
the tableaux. La )y Fairlight and 
the youngest of the three Miss 
Nashes were the belles. You can- 
not imagine any tiling more beautiful 
than Lady Fairlight as Mary Queen 
of Scots at lier execution. Lady 
Camelford's daughter and the Miss 
Roaches were Iter maids of honour, 
and young Lord Tufton was the 
executioner. Lady Fairlight was 
dressed in black velvet. In the first 
tableau she appeared absorbed in 
prayer while her maids of honour 
stood weeping around her; and in 
the second she was in the act of 
giving her "beads" to one of her 
ladies. 1 never saw anything like 
her expression in this last scene. It 
was a combination of resignation at 
her own f^ad fate and tender com- 
passion ibr tho-e she was about to 
leave for ever. The next tableau 
was froui the " Rape of the Lock," 
in which the yo'ingcj-t of the Nashes 
represented Beliutla. She was ex- 
quisitely dressed, find as her fore- 
head is low the effect of her hair 
being drawn otf away from her face 
was exceedingly good, especially as 
she has a good brow. Altogether 
with powder, and flowers jauntily 
set on the top and side of the moun- 
tain of coiffure which she wore, 
and with patches, and sac, and 
short petticottts displaying a small 
foot and neat ankle, she was as 
lovely a sight as could be seen. 
Tom Lee did his part well. His 



unwhiskered face came in admirably 
for such a tableau. He was capitally 
dressed, and so were Miss Nash's 
two sisters, who filled up the back- 
ground. The last tableau was of 
Elaine as ahe was V)orne along in 
her barge. Ellen Pendarve's fine 
outline came out beautifully as she 
lay upon the bier, and Lord Camel- 
ford's masculine head and features 
with the addition of a snowy beard 
well represented the "dumb old 
servitor" who steer'd the dead 
" upward with the flood." 

• In her right hand the lily, in her left 
The letter — all her bright hair streaminK 

down — 
And all ihe coverlid was cloth of gold 
Down to her waist, and she herself in white 
All hut her face, and that clear- featured face 
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead 
But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled.' 

I am not sure it was wise to finish 
the tableaux with one so sad— for it 
was not easy to shake off the im- 
pression quickly, and it was only by 
a kind of an effort that we returned 
to jollity. However, we did manage 
to recover ourselves, and were as 
jolly as ever, dancing away merrily 
to fiddle and fife. Our charades 
were even better than the tableaux ; . 
and some of the acting was admirable. 
Young Drystix made a first-rate 
conspirator in "Counterplot," and 
Lord Tufton a capital man milliner. 
The passages between him and 
Theo. Edmonstone were admirable. 
" The Peer," as Tom Lee, his bear 
leader, calls him, has a quantity of 
black, greasy-looking hair, a bright 
colour, good features, and an inci- 
pient moustache, which he is al- 
ways manipulating tenderly; and 
altogether he well represented that 
peculiar class of mankind which is 
devoted to measuring tapes and 
laces by the yard and to proffering 
their goods to the fair sex in the 
most irresistible manner. It seemed 
to me quite his metier to unfold 
silks and satins, and assure the pur- 
chasers that they were " the newest 
style," the "ntost fashionable," 
"quite distinguished,'' &c., &c. 
Theo. Ed mous tones contemptuous 
banter of him, and reckless incon- 
siderateness in making him display 
his goods, without the remotest in- 
tention of purchasing any, exhibited 



Visits in Country Souses. 



89 



to the life the mode in which some 
ladies of our acquaintance conduct 
themselves in certain shops which 
profess to provide them with all 
that is requisite to their success 
and reputation in society. And 
now, dear mother mine, I must shut 
up and get to bed, for Edmonstone 
and I are off early to-morrow on our 
way to the North. I will write to 
vou again as soon as I can, but if 
we are worked as hard at Staple- 
ton's as we have been here, I shall 
not have much time to write. 
What a pity and a bore too, it is 
that some of the kindest- hearted 
and most good-natured people in the 
world make life such a toil to them- 
selves and their fiit nds. There are 
people who are always striving to 
get fourteen pence out of every 
shilling, and so there are others 
whose sole object is to get more 
hours out of every day than is 
to be got, aud so it is all " hurry 
scurry " after amusement of some 
kind.' 

Arthur and Sir Archibald set off 
early, and travelled as luxuriously 
and comfortably together as it is 
possible in this most luxunoixs age. 
By dint of proper precautions, in 
direct contravention of the orders 
and regulations issued by the direc- 
tors, and in contempt of the penal- 
ties and anathemas annexed to any 
infringement of those orders, the 
two friends were able to propitiate 
the guards so as to secure for them- 
selves the undisputed and undis- 
turbed possession of one compart- 
ment, in which they slept and 
smoked and talked and read as 
they felt inclined ; and in due course 
of time they arrived at their desti- 
nation, where they had been invited 
for grouse-shooting and deer-stalk- 
ing. The nickname by which ' the 
Lodge ' was known among a certain 
set of familiar friends was 'Liberty 
Hall,' because the owner aud master 
of it piqued himself upon allowing 
every one to do just what he liked, 
and neither more nor less than he 
pleased. The bee might be as busy 
as he would, and the drone as idle. 
It was from Liberty Hall that Ar- 
thur despatched his second letter to 
his mother. 



* Dearest Mother, — It seems to 
me the world is always in extremes. 
At Garzington we were never al- 
lowed a moment to ourselves. We 
were hunted from pillar to post, 
never might be sulky or indulge 
any wayward fancy of one's own ; and 
here we are allowed to do what we 
like, go where we like, and indulge 
any passing mood. I have been 
here a week, and have very little to 
tell you; but you will rail at me, 
and return to your old charge 
again-t all men, aud say that they 
can never be pleased, if I say that I 
do not think the absence of all rule 
and law, as it exists at " Liberty 
Hall," conduces to one's comfort 
The fact is, than when the maNter of 
the house surrenders his right to 
plan and devise for the amusement 
of his guests, every one is at a loss 
to know what to do, and the practi- 
cal result is that we either go about 
amusing ourselves in a "shilly- 
shally" kind of way, or else sub- 
mit to the dictation of some ruling 
but less scrupulous individual who 
forces his own views upon others 
as to what is or is not the thing to 
be done. We have at this moment 
an instance in point. Hervey Gray, 
a cousin of our host, presumes upon 
his relationship, and absorbs all the 
"gillies," and directs us all with 
much more imperiousness than his 
cousin ever would assume. At the 
beginning of our visit we were left 
very much to ourselves, and had 
each of us a gilly of our o^vn, and 
whatever else we wanted, but there 
was no plan— no combination, — 
and it did not answer, especially as 
the master of " Liberty Hall " is not 
himself much of a sportsman, and 
has taken " the Lodge " more for the 
honour and glory of the thing than 
for his own special love of sport; 
but now Hervey Gray rules us 
with a rod of iron, and, though 
fond of shooting, but very ignorant 
of the noble art of deer-stalking, 
lays down the law for us, for the 
keepers, for the gillies, for every- 
body and everything, and his law 
is not always good or pleasant. 
In short, I am altogether rather 
out of humour, and think that it 
is possible to have too much of 
one's own way, and that Hervey 



90 



Visits in Country Homes. 



Gray is not a ^ood substitute for 
the laird of "Liberty Hall." 

' Arthur D was quite right in 

saying that it does not conduce to 
comfort when the master is not 
master. It is like an arch without 
its keystone ; there is no centre, no 
point of union. The combination of 
law and liberty is rare, but where it 
exists, it promotes happiness. It 
sounds almost absurd to use such 
grand words and ideas for the 
expression of a very pimple fact 
— that the pleasantest houses are 
those in which the owners occupy 
themselves for the comfort and 
entertainment of their guests, and 
arrange for them what shall be 
done, and at the same time make it 
quite appreciable by all that each 
one is at liberty to say "yea" or 
"nay" according to the bias of 



his own mind. It is difficult t6 
steer clear of the two opposite evils 
of which Garzington Manor and 
Liberty Hall are the types ; but 
there are houses in which the gifted 
hosts and hostesses contrive to pro- 
vide for their guests whatever shall 
be most conducive to their enjoy- 
ment without fussiiiess or dictation. 
No one is nrglected ; all are consi- 
dered ; and life passes so easily and 
pleasanlly, without noise or confu- 
sion, that we thinking people are 
scarcely conscious of the amount 
of tiict, consideration, and fore- 
thought which they ought to 
place to the credit of those who 
make it a part of the business 
of their life to contribute, as far 
as they can, to the social enjoyment 
of their friends. 

' Tom Slkmjkb.' 




Visits in Country Houses. 



91 



VISITS IN COUNTRY HOUSES. 



No. III. 



AFTER having mntually fol- 
lowed their own devices, Mrs. 

D and her son Arthur agreed 

to meet at Hornby Castle, where 
the Dnku of Broadlands entertained 
a large party, to celebrate the 
comins of age of his eldest son, 
Lord Prmulacre. 

Hornby Castle well represented 
the family to whom it had belfnged 
for so many years. It was a stately, 
turreted castle, which had been 
built about a century ago, on the 
site of an old hou.se which, for many 
generations, had satisfied the more 
mode-rate requirements of those who 
were then lords of the manor of 
Hornby ; for ' Hornby Manor ' had 
not then developed into 'Hornby 
Castle.' It was left to after gene- 
rations to form alliances, and accu- 
mulate wealth and laud, which 
placed the Duke of Broadlands on 
a level with the most noble and 
wealthy. By a marriage with the 
greatest heiress of her day, and the 
sole representative of an ancient 
house, whose alliance had been 
universally courted for many pre- 
ceding generations, they took the 
name of ' Goldust ;' and after adding 
field to field, and enlarging their 
borders, they pulled down the old 
house, which had sheltered them 
and theirs with its ancient respec- 
tability for so long a time, and 
whose walls had resounded with 
the merry voices of all the children 
who had grown up under its roof, 
and built a gorgeous castle, which, 
as we have already said, well repre- 
sented the estate of its noble occu- 
piers. It was a handsome building, 
if turrets and towers, and a huge 
ma^s of masonry, covering a con- 
siderable area, constitute beauty of 
any kind. All who appreciate what 
is genuine, and hate pretension, 
turned away from it, if not with 
disgust, at all events with dissatis- 
faction at there being so little to 
interest them. It was impossible 
to help being attracted by its im- 
mensity. It overawed the beholder 
as it stretched itself out along the 



valley, occupying, with its stablesand 
outbuildings, which were all built 
in the same ma .-.ive and imposing 
style, with its gardens, and lawns, 
and pleasure-grounds, a vast extent 
of land, infinitely greater than any 
one would suppose Irom merely 
looking down upon it from the 
heights above. Nature had proved 
herself a kind friend to Hornby 
Castle, for nothing could surpass 
the beauty of the park and its sur- 
rounding scenery. Wood and water, 
fern, heather, and gorse, undulating 
ground, well- wooded hills protecting 
it from the cruel north winds; and 
on the southern side an extensive 
view over a rich and beautifully- 
wooded country, which melted away 
into the blue distance of the far 
horizon. Such a prospect could 
rarely be seen, and many an eye 
rested on it in silent pleasure, glad 
to turn away from the castle itself, 
which afforded so little interest. All 
that wealth could accomplish had 
been done to adorn the castle. In- 
side and out it told of money, but, 
great and imposing as it was, it 
sunk into less than insignificance in 
the presence of Nature. 

Hornby Castle now appeared in 
its most attractive form; for so 
large a house, filled as it was 
throughout, from top to bottom, 
and in every nook, with a goodly 
assemblage of persons of all ages, 
bent upon enjoying themselves, and 
doing all possible honour to the 
occasion which called them together, 
could not fail in affording amuse- 
ment and pleasure to its guests. It 
was so large that, when fully in- 
habited, it seemed almost to contain 
the population of a small town ; and 
this circumstance in itself was a 
security for success, because every 
one was sure to find some congenial 
society. The young are easily 
pleased, and ready to find some 
good in everything. To them every 
cloud has a silver lining; and no- 
thing is wholly evil in their eyes. 
But their elders are neither so 
easily satisfied nor so well disposed. 



92 



Visits in Country Houses. 



They are more critical, and more 
exifjeant — more something which 
interferes with their enjoyment of 
life. But at Hornby Castle he mnst 
have been very ciabbed and hard to 
please who could not find something 
pleasant and congenial in the varied 
society which was now collected in 
honour of Lord Proudacre's having 
attained his majority. Mothers with 
lovely daughters— and of course all 
mothers think their daughters lovely 
— were in a flutter of delight, for 
who could tell that the youug mil- 
lionaire might not be eprii^ with one 
of them? At all events, it was not 
impossible, and, to many minds, 
what is not absolutely impossible 
soon becomes hopeful. It had been 
a profitable tiuie for the milliners, 
for no expense was spared by the 
'chaperons' to embellish the ap- 
pearance of their lovely charges. 
Everything that could set off their 
wares to the best advantage on 
so important an occasion was 
universally voted to be money 
well spent, which might, possibly, 
return a high inteiest. There was 
that vulgar Lady Chesterfoid with 
her daugliter, no longer young, but 
who imagined she pof^sessed the gift;, 
of eternal youth, and who always 
selected the last and most popular 
debutante as her ' dear friend,' as if 
all the rest were too old to be her 
companions. She was always, like 
her mother, dressed in the most 
outre fashion ; and it was said, and 
generally believed, that poor Lord 
Chesterford, who had nothing but 
his pension as a retired and now 
superannuated cliancellor, found 
himself nearly swamped by the cost- 
liness and variety of the toilettes of 
his wife and daughter. He was a 
somewhat prosy man, but could tell 
a story well; and his everlasting 
reminiscences oL)tained for him a 
certain amount of succors. He was 
one of the Duke of Broad lands' 
oldest political friends, and they 
used to retire into remote corners 
to eettle the affairs of the state, 
which, if the expie-sion of their 
faces, and the solemnity of their 
manner might be taken as any indi- 
cation of its condition, it might be 
inferred that the country was on 
the very verge of ruin. Then there 



was Lady Caroline Hardy and her 
daughter, who is one of the beauties 
of the day, but who, for some inex- 
plicable reason, is not popular. 
Whether she is dull or ill-tempered 
it is impossible to say, because 
opinion is divided, but she has not 
the success to which her Itcauty 
entitles her. Her mother was a 
celebrated beauty, but not over- 
wise ; and it was always said that 
her husband was not sorry to die, 
and used to say, with a double 
entendre in h.is words, that he had 
prayed for many years lor his re- 
lease. Mr. and Lady Barbara Bucket 
and their son and daughter con- 
tributed their share to the enter- 
tainment of the company at Hornby 
Castle. She was an ambitious 
woman, who was always aiming at 
bemg the grande dame of the county 
in which she lived. She was a 
discreet woman, for she never let 
any one know the inside of her 
mind. It was possible it had no 
inside ; but if it had she guarded it 
well, so that no one should look 
into it. She had an eternal smile, 
of a peculiar kind, in which the 
thin upper lip seemed lost in teeth ; 
and say what you would, of sorrow 
or joy, you were sure to be greeted 
by the same inexpressive smile. 
Her sole object in life was to become 
the reigning queen of Swampsbire. 
Her husband was a man who 
lived upon the news ho gleaned 
from other men, and he had a 
peculiar way of creeping up to 
people who were engaged in con- 
versation, that he miglit learn the 
subject of it. His thirst for inform- 
ation was unbounded, and he was 
generally known as ' the Swamp- 
shire Investigator.' He would have 
made an admirable reporter had 
his lot in life been cast differently. 
As it was, he was always welcomed 
by those who live upon other people's 
affairs, and room was always made 
for him in certain coteries of tea- 
drinking elderly women, who in- 
variably greeted him by saying, 
'Ah, here's Mr. Bucket; he is sure 
to know all about it. He will tell 
us. Oh, Mr. Bucket, we are so glad 
to see you. Have you heard whether 
it is true that Lady Jones called 
her husband Sir Henry an old fool. 



Visits in Country Houses. 



9a 



because he lost thirty shilh'ngs at 
whist to Sir Eal pit (jambler? And 
do you know whether it is true tliat 
Lord and Lady Goosey are going to 
be separated because tliey are al- 
ready tired of each other ? You are 
sure to know, because you know 
everything.' Then Mr. Bucket 
would twiddle his watch-key, and 
would say that he 'did not know, 
but had heard,' &c. All these 
people furnished a fund of amuse- 
ment to tliose who appreciated their 
propensities, or liked 1o pJay them 
off for the entertainment of others. 

Mrs. D and her sou weresnch 

pleasant, cheery, and unpretentious 
people that they were always well 
received ; besides whicli they were 
so pleasant to themselves and one 
another, that they were, without any 
eltbrt on their part, agreeable com- 
pany generally. Mrs. D— — , who 
had a natural gift for private 
theatricals, was in great request; 
and as she loved burnt cork, foot- 
lights, and everything connected 
with the stage, she was in her 
element at once, ready to give a help- 
ing hand wherever it was wanted. 
She could improvise a dress out of 
very scanty materials, and could 
compose the most successful pro- 
logue on the shortest notice. She 
could arrange a tableau with true 
artistic skill; and as tableaux and 
private theatricals were a part of 
the programme of the festivities, 
she was in hourly requisition — the 
referee on all disputed points, who 
could, with her consummate tact, 
make people do exactly what they 
were required to do. She and her 
son Arthur, in the meanwhile, enter- 
tained themselves each day by 
comparing notes, and commenting 
on the events as they occurred; 
and the daily reunions between 
mother and son were the best com- 
mentary of the proceedings which 
took place on the momentous occa- 
sion of Lord Proudacre's attaming 
his majority. 

Not only in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood of Hornby Castle, but 
throughout the length and breadth 
of the county of Tuftunsh're the 
Duke of Broad lands was hold in 
great awe and respect. His word 
was law; his disapproval a grave 



calamity. Surrounded by small 
squires and self-important clergy, 
he reigned like a king over the 
whole county ; and they who were 
so fortunate as to be admitted 
within the gracious precincts ot 
Hornby Castle, and into the Duke's 
confidence, were the envy of all 
their neighbours, and themselves 
elated at the notice that was taken 
of them. It was quite a tradition 
in the county that the mind ctf his 
Grace, on all local politics, shouM 
be taken before any one woul I 
venture to move in any matter; 
and when, on a certain memora\)le 
occasion, one of the squires of 
Tnitantshire presumed to have an 
opinion of his own, and to endeavour 
to maintain it against the Duke 
of Broadlands, the whole of that 
deferential county was aghast at 
his presumption, and was in haste 
to propitiate the favour of the 
Duke, and assure him that it was 
but an isolated instance of a man 
daring to think for himself. The 
clergy and the gentry were, in fact, 
more or less dependents of the great 
man. They who were in favour 
were flattered by it to their very 
bent, and they who were not lived 
on hoping, even against hope, that 
their turn mi«ht come some day. 
The submissiveness and deference 
of these good people, their anxiety 
to propitiate the rising sun, and to 
do all honour to the Goldast family, 
was a source of great ai.iur5ement 

to Mrs. D and her son, who 

commented on the flunkey ism of 
these country folk in no measured 
terms. 

' Mother,' said Arthur D one 

day, as he sat in Mrs. D 's room, 

in the interval before dressing-time, 
talking over the events of the day, 
and canvassing the various guests 
who had arrived,— 'Mother, did you 
see what a fix that poor Mr. Luvtin 
was in when the " great man " called 
on him to repeat what he was saying 
to that young liberal, Harry Phree- 
think ? How he stammered and 
spluttered; and how sold he wa?' 
when Harry, enjoying the fun, said 
that Mr. Luvtin was agreeing with 
him in thinkmg that there should 
be an extension ot the franchise, but 
that they had only as yet agreed 



94 



Visits in Country Houses. 



that a bill should be introduced, 
but had not settled the details.' 

'Oh ! that was it, then, that made 
the Duke give one of his ominous 
"Ah's!"' 

'Yes; and did you see how it 
shut up poor old Luytin ? I pitied 
the man. He won't sleep a wink 
while he is in the house, because he 
will feel he has regularly put his 
foot into it. How I did enjoy it, 
though !' 

' It was a shame, though, my dear 
Arthur, of your friend Harry to 
make so much mischief.' 

' Miscliief, mother ! why, bless you, 
it will blow over in no time.' 

' Never, Arthur. The Duke never 
allows the clergy to think for them- 
selves. Besides, if I mistake not, 
Mr. Luvtin has one of the Duke's 
livinus.' 

Arthur gave no reply, save a pro- 
longed whi.stle. 

' What are you going to do, 
mother, about that young Itaffles? 
He'll never know his part, and he 
is such an awful stick. In that 
love scene with Eva Eobarts (by 
Jove, mother, what a pretty girl 
slie is!) he provokes me out of all 
patience.' 

' No doubt, my boy ; I can well 
believe it. Would you like to take 
his place ?' 

'Nonsense! I don't mean that. 
I am not such a fool as that. Why, 
the girl has not a penny, mother.' 

'I admire your philosophy, Ar- 
thur ; and, after all, '' her fa^e is her 
fortune," as the old song fa.ys.' 

' I want to ask you, mother, who 
is that Doctor Medlar, that seems to 
be such an authority in arranging 
some of the tableaux?' 

'I cannot tell, except that he is a 
great friend of the Duchess's — her 
own pet doctor that she swears by, 
and who seems to have the run of 
the house.' 

' I hate the man !' 

'So do I.' 

' Did you see how he took hold of 
Emily Fitzgibbon's chin, and said, 
" A little more this way, if you 
please -a l(;etle more still. Thank 
you ; that will do. Now the head 
a little thrown back ; thank you. 
Allow me," and again the fellow 
took hold of her chin to arrange 



her pose as he liked. I had no 
piitience with him.' 

' And how did Emily Fitzgibbon 
like it?' 

'Like it! She looked as if she 
could have knocked him down. 
Did you hear that after it was over 
she went up to Lady Lavinia Gol- 
dust, and said she must decline 
taking any further part in the 
tableaux?' 

' No ; did she though ! I wonder 
whether that is really true, because 
Lord Proudacre seems rather taken 
with her, and I don't somehow 
think she would like to affront 
them.' 

' Perhaps not ; but I can tell you 
she was awfully put out; and when 
that little doctor came forward after- 
wards, to assure her that it was the 
best tableau of the evening, she 
scarcely vouchsafed him any reply, 
but gave him a look expressive of 
ineffable contempt. I think it was, 
after all, your fault, mother.' 

' Mine! How could it bo mine? 
What could I have to do with that 
man?' 

' You could have prevented his 
interfering.' 

' Lady Lavinia and her mother 
assigned to us our proper places, 
and, as you know, I am mistress of 
the robes, and have to arrange all 
about the dresses. I am the genius 
that presides over calico, cotton, 
velvet, and the rouge-pot. But 
there goes the dressing-bell, and if 
you don't hurry off I shall not be in 
time for dinner, and shall again 
offend against the laws of Hornby 
Castle, of which punctuality is one.' 

' I say, mother, what a pompous, 
stiff old prig he is.' 

'Yes; but a most kindhearted 
man. I have known him do the 
most generous acts, in spite of his 
character for stint and screw.' 

' Well, I must be off, else I shall 
offend his mightiness.' 

Every day they sat down fifty to 
dinner. There was a magnificent 
state dining-room, capable of accom- 
modating a vast number, and even 
this large party was not out of pro- 
portion to it. It was built of stone, 
with richly groined roof, and hand- 
some oak panelling occupied one- 
third of the walls. A huge fireplace 



Visits in Country Houses. 



95 



and richly-carved stone chimney- 
piece filled up the centre uf the 
room, reaching almost np to the 
ceiling : while a large oriel window 
opposite the fireplace, and another 
of the same character, only larger 
still, at right angles to it, added to 
its appearance. It was one of tlioso 
rooms which strike the beholder 
with awe. It required numbers to 
be able to grapple with its oppres- 
sive magni licence, and a smaller 
party would have been silenced by 
it. As it was, the room resounded 
with the sound of merry voices, 
and there was no lull in the laughter 
and merriment that prevailed. The 
first day the Duke of Broadlands 
seemed bewildered by the unwonted 
sounds, and, had he dared, would 
have been tempted to read the Riot 
Act; but his astonishment gave 
way before the resolute determina- 
tion of every one to enjoy himself, 
and be was carried away by the 
strong current, and found himself 
at last taking part in the surround- 
ing revelry. 

As the Duchess left the dining- 
room, she went up to the Duke and 
begged him not to remain there 
long, as so much had to be done in 
the way of entertainment for the 
large company of neighbours who 
were expected to arrive for the 
tableaux and ball which was to 
succeed them. 

The tenantry had been already 
regaled in the most sumptuous 
manner. The preceding day, which 
was the important one in Lord 
Proudacre's life, had been devoted 
to feasting the tenants and the poor 
on the estate. Each poor family 
had beef and bread, plum-pudding 
and beer, and a week's wages ; and 
every cottage bore ample testimony 
to the unwonted generosity and 
liberality of the Duke of Broad- 
lands. The tenants had been as- 
sembled in a large iron room which 
bad been erected for the occasion, 
and all the company at the Castle 
dmed with them, and it was gene- 
rally voted to have been great fun. 
The Duke relaxed somewhat from 
his wonted dignity of manner, and 
actually condescended to some play- 
ful witticisms in his intercourse 
with Jiis tenants. Lord Proudacre 



acquitted himself more than credit- 
ably ; and there were some who were 
malicious enong'ti to say that there 
were indications of his views be- 
coming more liberal than any which 
bad hitherto prevailed at Hornby 
Castle— a suspicion which never en- 
tered the Duke's head, happily both 
for himself and Lord Prouilacre; for 
if such an idea had suggested itself 
to him as a possibility, it must have 
led to distrust and estrangement, as 
the Duke looked upon political con- 
sistency as the greatest of moral 
virtues, and would have preferred 
any esdandre to the abandonment 
of the family tradition. 

No sooner had the gentlemen left 

the dining-room, than Mrs. D 

was hurried off to her green-room, 
where, with rouge-pot, paint, and 
powder, she was soon busily em- 
ployed in putting the finishing 
touches to those who were to figure 
in the tableaux. Dr. Medlar was 
busy on the stage, in front of which 
a large gold frame was fastened, 
across the inside of which some 
crape had been strained. But the 
little doctor was the presiding 
genius, giving offence to all save 
the Duchess, who could see no fault 
in her 'dear Doctor Medlar.' He 
wa^' a little man. with bright eyes, 
a hook-nose, and brilliant com- 
plexion; not unlike a Jew, very 
unlike a gentleman, with effemi- 
nate, would-be-insinuating manners. 

Mrs. D was referred to very 

often, because the spirit of rebellion 
against the doctor was very general, 
and none of the ladies, young or 
old, liked to be twisted and twirled 
about at his pleasure, as if they were 
nothing better than lay figures. 

There was the scene between 
Jeanie and Effie Deans in prison ; 
between Sir Henry Lee and Alice, 
where she kneels at his feet, while 
he sat in a wicker arm-chair, listen- 
ing to a respectable old man whose 
dilapidated dress showed something 
of the clerical habit ; and another 
in which the Fair Maid of Perth 
listens, in an attitude of devout 
attention, to the instructions of a 
Carthusian monk. But one of the 
happiest of all was a Dutch picture, 
in which a family group was repre- 
sented, some engaged in needle- 



96 



Visits in Country Homes. 



work, others playing at cards, while 
some younger ones played with 
their toys on the floor, as their 
elders slept soundly in their arm- 
chairs, with half-emptied glasses by 
their side. The grouping, the varied 
dresses, all the accessories told so 
well that it took every one by sur- 
prise, and elicited the most enthu- 
siaslic applause. After these were 
over, they adjourned to the diaw- 
ing-rooms, and then reassembled 
in the saloon, where dancing was 
kept up until a late hour. 

The next morning, Arthur D 

felt disicclined to join the party in 
the racket- court, and, yawning from 
sheer fatigue (for he had been in 
great request for the tableaux, and 
was an inveterate dancer), he saun- 
tered leisurely into his mother's 
room, saying — 

• Well, mother, will you bet? Is 
Prourlacre going to marry Emily 
Fitzgibbon ?' 

' Marry Emily Fitzgibbon ! — not 
he. Why, no Goldust ever married 
e Whig. The Duke would dieot it.' 

' But, mother, ftUows sometimes 
think lor themselves on such mat- 
ters.' 

' Perhaps so : but that will never 
be. I should pity her it that were 
to take place, for she would not 
have a comfortable berth of it.' 

■ Why so ?' 

'Becaui^e the Duke takes upon 
himself the responsibility of think- 
ing for all his family, and he would 
never forgive the intrusion of such 
thorough Whig blood into his 
house.' 

' Is he such a bigot in politics?' 

' Yes, indeed ; in politics, in reli- 
gion, in everything. Don't you see 
in what awe he is held by all 
the county-people?— how they bow 
and scrape when they come within 
a hundred yards of him ?' 

' By-the-by, did you see what a 
fright young Snobere was in, when 
he nearly knocked his Grace over 
as he was waltzing with that gay 
Mrs. Neerdowell? He stammered 
his apologies as if his last hope of 
heaven was on the very verge of 
being lost. He was in such an 
awful fright.' 

' Who is it you are speaking of, 
Arthur? Is it that round, chubby- 



faced youth who asked you, when 
you were in the green-room, wbat 
sort of tap they kept at Hornby 
Castle ?' 

' Yes, mother, the same. He was 
the fellow you paddtd so nicely 
for the sk-epy Dutchman m tlie 
"Family Group." ' 

' I reuiember ; and who has beea 
making such violent love to Blanche 
Oxen ford.' 

' Exactly ; whenever, at least, 
Mrs. Neerdowell will let him.' 

' By-theby, Arthur, who is that 
Mrs. Neerdowell? She is very 
pretty ; but rather dangerous, isn't 
she?' 

' Well, there are all sorts of stories 
about her. Some say she is a widow ; 
others that she is a divorcee ' 

'What? a divorcer at Hornby 
Castle! Why, the very walls would 
fall upon us if such a thing were 
even suspected. But what is she ?' 

' I cannot tell : I have been try- 
ing to find out. She came with 
those Merewethers that the Dulie 
was so civil to.' 

* And she is determined to take 
our fat Dutchman by storm ; and 
he, foolish fellow! is flattered by it. 
Arthur, you men are silly fellows.' 

'Because, dear mother, you wo- 
men are so pleasant. Isn't that it?' 

* I don't know why it is ; only 
that there is no man that a clever 
woman cannot mal<e a fool of. You 
remember Samson ?' 

Arthur looked grave, and then 
asked his mother when she intended 
to leave Hornby Castle. 

' I am rather tired of all this row. 
Cannot we take a small cottage 
somewhere, and rusticate a little 
while? I don't care where it is. We 
might get down some books from 
Mudie's, and read and be quiet ; for 
it seems to me that, wherever one 
visits in the country, one is sure to 
find as much row and racket as 
there is in London, with fewer op- 
portunities of escaping from it and 
ot doing what one likes.' 

' But, my dear Arthur, you are 
quite hlase. What does it all mean ? 
You did not suppose that, when we 
came here for this special occasion, 
we should find the house empty, or 
do nothing but twiddle finger and 
thumb from morning to night. 1 



Vi$if$ in Country Houses. 



was here once, some years ago, when 
there was scarcely any one here but 
ourselves, and I never shall forget 
the pompous solemnity of it all. 
Oh, no! take my word for it that 
Hornby Castle is only bearable when 
there is what you call a " row " 
going on.' 

' Ah, my dear mother, you are so 
fond of society." 

' Fond of my own kind ? Yes, 
and so will you be when you are as 
old as I am. It is only the young 
who think it a happiness to sit at 
home and live upon themselves.' 

'Not at all: I do not wish for 
that. But just remember where we 
have been. You found row and 
racket at the Garringtons ; I found 
the same at Garzington. And then 
at Filey with the Splashfords, and 
at Danesford with the Neverests ; 
and now here there is not a mo- 
ment's quiet. Morning, noon, and 
night the top is made to spin.' 

' But you were not any more con- 
tented with your life in the High- 
lands.' 

•No; but that was for a dif- 
ferent reason : because there was no 
guiding hand to direct and arrange 
what was to be done.' 

' My dear boy, you are, like the 
rest of your sex, never contented.' 

'Indeed, no. I am not discon- 
tented ; but I own that I like to sit 
here with you, and ' 

' Grumble.' 

' No, mother ; you are wrong.' 

' What, then, do you call it ? and 
why should you be so weary ? I can 
remember when you never could 
have enough of it ; when I had to 
ran after Lady This, and Mrs. Tba^ 



to get invitations for yon, and spent 
a fortune in note-paper to get you 
into all the row and racket you now 
profess to dislike.' 

' Well, mother, it was so ; and I 
suppose that I have had enough of 
it. " All work, and no play, makes 
Jack a dull boy;" but I suspect, 
all play would mal^e him very sick. 
But tell me — was it like this in your 
day, when you were quite young ?' 

' I am amused at the delicate way 
in which you say quite young, as if 
you wished to let me down easy. 
No; things were very different in 
my young days. We used 'm pay 
longer visits than are now paid, and 
visited at fewer houses. Travelling 
was a more difficult and expensive 
affair. We had more friends and 
fewer acquaintances then. Now the 
tables are turnerl, and friendships 
are comparatively rare. It is all 
owing to the facility of travelling, 
which has made us more restless, 
and more dependent upon excite- 
ment.' 

Mrs. D was not far wrong. 

Steam has set society in motion ; and 
go where we will, we find everything 
in a state of progress. It is only 
in such places as Hornby Castle, 
weighted as it is by the pompous 
old Duke of Broadlands, that things 
seem to stand still; and yet even 
there, as we have lately seen, cir- 
cumstances have pi'oved too strong 
for him; and Hornby Castle will 

live in Arthur D 's memory as a 

place in which there was as little 
quiet as could be found in other 
places which are avowedly given up 
to pleasure. 




98 



What 's in the Papers ? 



WHAT'S IN THE PAPERS ? 
(Illustrated by the late C. H. Bennett.) 



WELL, as far as matters of in- 
tense personal interest are con- 
cerned, it entirely depends upon your 
own peculiar hobby ; biat, if you 
are merely anxious to learn the con- 
tents of • The Times,' ' Daily Tele- 
graph,' ' Standard,' or ' Morning 
Star,' as a matter of statistics in 
journalism. I can sum them up and 
give you the result in a twinkling. 
Leading articles, reports, critiques ; 
intelligence on military, naval, sport- 
ing, and mercantile matters ; foreign 
correspondence, advertisements, and 
padding. If you can find nothing 
whatever to amuse yoa in any of 
these departments, you may just as 
well give up the study of news- 
papers for ever, and stick to the 
perusal of fiction for the remainder 
of your days. I am fully convinced, 
fur my own part, that a belief in 
reality is fatal to the exercise of the 
fancy : I only put my faith in things 
that cannot by any possibility be 
proved, and I am consequently 
looked upon (by people who don't 
know any better) as an ethereal 
dreamer — a creature of wild imagin- 
ings— a being of infinite aspirations; 
as anything, in short, rather than a 
practical and well-conducted young 
person. It is not, however, the 
wish of most people to imitate 
Lord Byron, and wear an enormous 
amount of back hair. The present 
age believes in its own doings con- 
siderably, and likes to see how it 
gets along ; hence the enormous de- 
mand for newspapers. 

I always make a point of reading 
my own particular organ of opinion 
in bed ; and, having perused it 
through and through very carefully, 
I throw it down and give myself up 
to a luxurious criticism on all that 
it contains. Facts are not much in 
my line, as I have already stated ; 
but Society demands that one should 
know something of what goes on 
in the world ; and I desire to 
keep well with Society. To-night, 
perhaps— during the intervals of 
the mazy waltz or the maddening 
galop— I shall find myself in want 



of a subject on which to breathe 
soft nothings to my delightful 
partneF. I shall probably dine this 
evening in the most intellectual 
company, and I wish to be particu- 
larly terse and epigrammatic on 
current events. The newspaper 
obviously supplies me with mate- 
rials for the exhibition of my con- 
versational acquirements ; and I am 
enabled, by perusing it in bed, fully 
to digest its varied contents. The 
body's repose is propitious to the 
mind's exertion ; and I have long 
ago discdvered that my brain is 
never so active as when reclining 
on my downy pillow. Try to read 
a paper during breakfast, in the 
train, or on the omnibus : you can- 
not concentrate your intellect upon 
the task. It is merely one duty 
amongst the many that you have to 
perform during the day. Peruse 
it in bed, and it becomes your sole 
occuiDation — the only interval be- 
tween rest and labour, — the neutral 
ground that separates dreaming 
from doing. Never tell me that you 
cannot afford the time for it. Let 
the servant wake you half an hour 
before you mean to rise. 

The readers of a newspaper are 
as various in their choice of topics as 
the topics themselves. Nothing is 
too heavy for some of them, and 
nothing too light for others. There 
are people in this world, I believe, 
who take a fervid interest in the 
precise time of high water at Lon- 
don Bridge; yet high water and 
low are matters of profound indif- 
ference to most of us. The general 
reader cares very little about ships 
that have arrived and ships that 
have sailed ; yet the departure o 
every ship makes a good many 
people very anxious, and the arrival 
of every ship makes a good many 
people very happy. The advertise- 
ments that begin with ' Wanted ' 
have never created much interest in 
the bosom of your humble servant ; 
yet they are devoured with con- 
siderable eagerness by poor folks 
out of employment. It is not at all 




Dramt by Ok laU C. E. Bennett. 



WHAT'S IN THE PAPERS? 



100 



Whafs in the Papere f 



a common thing for the reader of a 
newspaper to occupy the centre of 
indiflference on every subject con- 
tained in it. 

We all profess to entertain strong 
opinions on the question of politics 
now-a-days ; and those who cultivate 
the most moderate principles ap- 
pear to be the most outrageous in 
their talk. I always figiit extremely 
shy of a man who tells me that he 
is a Liberal-Conservative, because 
I feel certain that he iutends to 
get upon his hind legs and argue. 
He reminds me of Mr. Facing-both- 
ways, in the ' Pilgrim's Progress.' I 
like a stanch Conservative, and I 
love an enthusiastic Liberal. Only 
let a man be black or white ; this 
whitey-brown school of politics is 
more than I can bear. The num- 
ber of respectable householders in 
London who firmly believe that 
the British Empire would go to 
smithereens unless they had fre- 
quent opportunities of stating their 
private impressions respecting its 
government must be something ab- 
solutely enormous. They deliver 
themselves of their pet theories on 
all possible occasions, and very 
often learn a considerable portion of 
the previous night's Parliamentary 
debates by heart. The conduct of 
Lord Stanley in the ' Tornado ' busi- 
ness, and the behaviour of Mr. Wal- 
pole respecting the demonstration 
in Hyde Park, must have set folks 
disputing in very nearly every coffee- 
room and eating-house in town. 
The newspaper, student who reads 
politics for their own sake, gene- 
rally contrives to make himself 
thoroughly master of his facts. His 
deductions, I need scarcely tell you, 
are occasionally erroneous ; but the 
opponent who rashly attempts to 
confute his logic is generally suffer- 
ing from a loose screw in his oWn 
statements. When one party in an 
argument can only remember, and the 
other can only reason, a considerable 
amount of precious time is likely to 
be lost in talk. 

The gentleman who pays the Fine 
Arts the graceful compliment <rf 
cultivating about a couple of them 
to a modest extent, gives his first 
glance to the critiques. The Royal 
Academy, and the French and 
Flemish Exhibition are absorbing 



topics for him ; he is quite capable 
of forming his own opinion on pic- 
tures, but he is nevertheless rather 
anxious to discover what the verdict 
of a professional critic may happen 
to be. He likes to" find himself sup- 
ported by authority, and so he 
studies* the daily papers as well as 
the weekly reviews. He welcomes 
with joy the latest news regarding 
operas and concerts. The notices 
of new plays have a singular fasci- 
nation for him, whether he believes 
or not in the decline of the drama. . 
It gives him huge gratification to 
be told that Miss T. performed with 
her usual tenderness and grace in 
the three-act comedy produced 
somewhere last night, or that Miss 
F. was the life and soul of Mr. 
Somebody's latest burlesque. He is 
perhaps acquainted personally with 
a popular actor — in which case he 
possesses a strong qualification for 
becoming a consummate bore, both 
amongst those who are acquainted 
with several popular actors, and 
amongst those who are acquainted 
with none at all. Whenever his 
friend happens to be spoken well of 
in the papers he announces the fact 
with immense triumph in every 
circle that he pervades, to the un- 
bounded joy of his listeners. He 
succeeds now and then in picking 
up very small pieces of green-room 
gossip. A certain actress is going 
to be married ; or a certain actor 
appears before the public under an 
assumed name (his proper one being 
Smith or Jones, probably) ; and 
these infinitesimal scandals are 
whispered about with every demon- 
stration of profound sagacity, until 
their garrulous chronicler has gra- 
dually come to be looked upon by 
the weak-minded as an oracle in 
dramatic afi'airs. His interest in the 
papers is greatly heightened by his 
knowledge of the names of the 
critics. If you are ever unlucky 
enough to go to the theatre in his 
company on the first night of a new 
piece, he will point you out ' The 
Times,' ' Telegraph,' and ' Star,' very 
knowingly. 

The mercantile gentleman turns 
at once to the money article of his 
favourite organ. He is an eminently 
practical man, sir, and has been 
occupied during several years of hifl 



WhaVa in the P«per» f 



101 



life in trying to spell some pretty 
word out of the three letters L, S, 
and D. He reads his paper in an 
omnibus or a railway carriage (first 
class) on his way to his place of 
business. The E.G. postal district 
is to him a garden in which he 
gathers money all the day, like a 
busy bee. Politics interest him in- 
asmuch as they influence the funds. 
He is at present a Conservative, if 
anything : in the days of his clerk- 
ship, a long time ago, his tendency 
was towards the most pronounced 
Hadicalism. On seventy or eighty 
pounds per annum, one musi be a 
Radical, you see ; Conservative prin- 
ciples cannot be nourished at the 
price. Except the City intelligence, 
there is very little in the paper to 
amuse our commercial friend ; but 
he glances at the police reports 
when he gets to his chop-house, in 
the middle of the day, because read- 
ing is favourable to the process of 
digestion. He likes to hear about 
fraudulent bankrupts ; and a gond 
big forgery is meat and drink to 
him for several days. 

To the lounger, p^/r et simple, the 
most seductive portion of a daily 
paper is its padding. This is the 
technical word made use of to 
describe those little scraps of general 
information, and odds and ends 
which are introduced at the foot of 
a colunm in order to fill it up. 
They are almost endless in their 
variety ; and some such headin2;s 
as the following may generally be 
looked for amongst them :— 

Singular Discovery of Human 
L'cmains in a Chalk Pit. 

TJie Bombay Mails. 

Daring Eohbery in the South of 
France. 

Progress of the Metropolitan Im- 
provements. 

Fatal Termination to a Practical 
Joke. 

Bemarkahle Atmospheric Pheno- 
menon in Devonshire. 



These entertaining morsels very 
often go the round of the London 
papers, and end by going out starring 
in the provinces. They are exceed- 
ingly useful as topics for small- 
talk; and 1 should advise all diners- 
out who feel their intellects insuf- 
ficient for grappling with questions 
of importance to devote a con- 
siderable quantity of their spare 
time to the study of jDadding. Plenty 
of amusement can also be obtained 
from the perusal of those mysterious 
advertisements which entreat some- 
body to return to his disconsolate 
wife, or treat of 'an elderly man 
who left his home last week in 
a blue coat with brass buttons, a 
wide-awake hat, and a pair of patent- 
leather boots. He was last seen at 
the British Museum, and is sup- 
posed to be insane' It is interest- 
ing, too, to know that ' X received 
the 5?., and will be happy to hear 
from Z again;' or that some in- 
curable maniac has been sending 
money to the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer on account of unpaid 
income-tax. The cynic will find 
food for conversation in the an- 
nouncement headed, ' Wanted a 
Governess.' The immense prices 
gireu for education just now are 
amongst the most encouraging signs 
of the times. 

But it is quite impossible to ex- 
haust the types of people who take 
delight in the newspaper — from 
the Minister of the Crown who is 
anxious to see whether his oration 
of last night in Parliament is cor- 
rectly reported, to the sympathetic 
burglar who desires to know how 
his bosom friend conducted himself 
yesterday before the Bow Street 
' beak.' I have only tried to sketch 
three or four of the most earnest 
readers, and I must leave you to 
exercise your own powers of obser- 
vation upon the rest. 

H. S. L. 



102 



Upstairs and Down. 



UPSTAIRS AND DOWN. 

By Jack Easel. 

F I wore asked what lead- 
ing feature of our domestic 
(couomy would l>e most 
likely to a'tiact tlie atten- 
tion of an intelligent fo- 
reigner, on his Hr.st visit to 
ihe metropolis, 1 should un- 
liesitatingly answer — an a 
laiUngs. We sons and 
daughters of perfidious Al- 
i" ''ion (or of Merry England, 
A it you like it better), can 
' I'ardly realize to ourselves 
* he sense of extreme novelty 
vhich Mossoo must expo- 
lience at finding himself in 
I city where he is con- 
lemiied to walk or di'ive 
■lirough endless grows of 
iron. Turn in wliat direc- 
lon he will through habit;- 
ible London, whether with- 
u the dingy, but eminently 
fashionable purlieus of May- 
iair, the spick-and-span 
iiew district of Tyburiua, 
itelgravia the aristocratic, 
iiloomsbury the respect- 
able, Barnsbury the genteel, 
(Mapham, Peekham, Ful- 
'am, Bronipton, Hoxton, 
u'ixton, Islington, Ken- 
.-iijgton, Kenuiijgton, — 
north, south, east, or west — ui> o!).-er\;uit eye will rest on an interminable 
row of cast-iron spikes* The fact in itself is not a pleasant one to con- 
template; and when Mossoo finds out that, behind these grim em- 
blems of war, cellars are dug to a depth of some ten or twelve feet from 
the pavement level, in which cellars at least half the inhabitants of every 
house pass the greater part of their time, can't you imagine how he shrugs 
his shoulders, and opens his eyes with astonishment ? But is it true, then, 
of these English, that they burrow in the ground for habitation, and 
condemn their domestics to reside in those oubliettes there? Parbleu! 
what a fate! Yes; it is even so; and Mossoo knows very well that 
honest Jules, who brushes his clothes at home, or Babet, who, with nothing 
on her head but a snow-white cap, frilled to a nicety, takes his children 
out for a walk in the Champs Elysees — either of these good creatures, I say, 
would griimble roundly, even if they didn't altogether pine away under such 
an infliction. Whereas Sairey-Jane, who comes up from her father's cottage 
on Dartmoor, with a pair of rosy cheeks and a strong Devonshire accent, 
accommodates herself kindly to her new situation — say that of deputy sub- 
assistant under scullery-maid, at eight poumis a year and her beer; gives 
up the green turf and purple heather of Iier native soil, for the prospect of 
a dull brick wall and coal-cellar door, only, enlivened by the hasty glimpse 
which she gets of the lower halves of passing crinolines, and of peripatetic 
boots and trousers, worn by people who, from the knee upwards, axe invisi- 




Upstairs and Down. 



103 



ble to her. This is Saii-ey-Jane's 
fate, and that of master Tom, the 
page, who perhaps had the run of 
an orchard before he bloomed into 
buttons ; though, to be sure, he does 
answer the front -door bell some- 
times, and even goes out for an 
airing exactly three paces behind 
his ' missus,' which is so far an ad- 
vantage to him. 

I wonder how many of the upper 
ten thousand — those who live at the 
top, iustead Oi the bottom of the 
kitchen-stairs —try to realize the 
effect oi this semi-subterraneous ex- 
istence; and which ol us who are 
placed in authority over servants ; 
who say to one ' do this,' and he 
doeth it (or doesn't do it, as the case 
may be) — which of us has explored, 
even in imagination, those gloomy 
labyrinths of the basement story ? 
We are separated by, say twelve 
inches of floor carpentry, fxom a 
little world of beings possessed of 
the same physical and moral sense 
as ourselves; with desires, hopes, 
fears, and digestions like our own, 
and we take no more count of these 
last than we do of the works of a 
watch. The use of a watch is to 
tell us the time ; but as for the 
mainspring, the lever action, the 
double escapement, the wheels and 
chain, or what you will, inside, do 
you, my dear lady, ever trouble your 
head one whit regarding thnn? 
Of course not. How should they 
concern you? Some chronometers 
— like that of your medical man, for 
instance— are made for use; others, 
like that of the pretty trinket at 
your waist, for ornament chiefly. So 
long as each serves its turn, neither 
you nor Dr. Glibb, I think, will 
meddle with its interior. Similarly, 
honest John Thomas, of Bellevue 
Cottage, Hammersmith, who is 
coachman, grooii), and gardener by 
turn, has evidently been destined 
by nature to make himself generally 
useful; while Mr. Chawles Plush- 
ington, who stands airing his calves 
under a certain i)orch in Eaton 
Square, may be regarded as a purely 
ornamental feature ii^ your establish- 
ment. All thi- is the result of fate. 
But the private disposition of these 
gentlemen, the quality of thjfir re- 
spective temperaments, the number 



of their brothers and sisters, and, in 
short, their individual relations out 
of livery — are details which, confess 
now, have no interest ijr your lady- 
ship. Indeed, in our present ad- 
vanced and highly enlightened state 
ot civilization it would be unrea- 
sonable to expect otherwi.se. But. 
as a pure matter of speculation, has it 
ever occurred to you what these 
humble retainers think of you ? 
whether they may, perchance, have 
over the kitchen-fire, discussed your 
merits as a wite, a mother, the mis- 
tress ot a household ? The notion is 
an extravagant one, I admit, fraught 
with danger to, and subversive of 
the first interests of good Society ; 
but, nevertheless, not altogether 
impossible. You remember, no 
doubt, that amusing story of your 
n>irsery days about a certain Palace 
Oi. Truth, in which wnoever spoke 
was, by an irresistible impulse, 
compelled to say just what he or 
she thought, neither more nor less. 
Conceive for an instant the etfect of 
such an influence down-stairs and 
in your presence. What would they 
say? — good gracious! what might 
they not presume to say V — those 
cotton- velvet and bombazine-clad 
servitors, about those in authority 
over them — about you and me, for 
instance ! 

Flace-aux-damesl Let US take 
the ladies first. There is Maria, 
your own maid, who, for a wage of 
some eighteen pounds a year, laces 
your corset, does your back-hair, 
selects your ball-dress (taking care, 
of course, that you don't appear 
twice during the season before the 
same people in the same costume), 
alters your bonnets of February to 
suit the requirements of March, and 
insists on your ordering another 
befitting the month of April ; who 
briuiis that fragrant cup of tea to 
your bedside every morning; who 
knows where you keep the sal-vola- 
tile and kalydor, and with whom 
you condescend to chat a little as 
she unrobes you at three a.m. twice 
a week during the season. Ah! 
dear, good, patient Maria! sweet- 
spoken and sandy-haired s.vcophant! 
cease your kindly prattle about 
ribbons, and bandoline, Irizettes, 
Valenciennes, and sansflectum ju- 



104 



Ujpstairs atid Doien. 



pons, and tell your mistress what 
you really think of her. She is young, 
pretty, and engaging : will you dare 
to say slie is a giddy and affected 
flirt? She is middle-aged, wealthy, 
and well-born: but have you ever 
called her a patchcd-up, imperious, 
skinflint ? I trow not. The smile 
with which jon greet her has been 
assumed so long, and with such 
excellent effect ; that rising indig- 
nation has been so studiously re- 
pressed; that uuimpassioned de- 
i'erence has told so well in regard to 
vails and perquisites — that I some- 
times fancy you deceive yourself 
among the rest of the world, and, 
for the time, actually imagine the 
middle-aged lady whom you make 
up for evening-iDarties, and take to 
pieces at two p.m., is a model of femi- 
nine perfection. Women, you seo, 
are born actors : their most effective 
arts are so natural to them ; their 
simplest natures often so graceful 
and artistic, that, from the humblest 
servant-maid to the most accom- 
plished lady of the laud, we can't 
easily distiuguish, I believe, that it 
might not be always desirable to 
distinguish between what they 
really are and wliat they seem to 
be. In point of fact, I don't think 
they always know themselves. 

But trusty John Thomas, and 
profusely-powdered Chawles, only 
hide their spleen, their indignation 
and contempt, in the presence of 
their betters. In the butler's pantry, 
at the ale-liouse round the corner, 
across the hammer-cloths of their 
respective chariots— sentiments are 
expressed which neither you nor I, 
dear Paterfamilias, could listen to 
unmoved. I know an old gentle- 
man—an irascible old gentleman — 
who, standing by chance one after- 
noon inconveniently near the top 
of the kitchen-stairs, after summon- 
ing his brougham for the second 
time that day, heard a favourite 
footman exclaim to the confidential 
valet, ' I'm blest if that infernal old 
noosance ain't ordered out the car- 
riage again !' 

Now you know that was by no 
means a pleasant remark to reach 
one's ears in the decline of life, 
uttered by a paid lacquey, the but- 



tons of whose very coat were adorned 
with the lamily crest ; but I am not 
at all sure that the old gentleman 
to whom I refer was justified in the 
severe retaliation which he adopted. 
The wretched Jenkins (let us call 
him) was dismissed on the spot, and 
had nothing but a month's wages 
to console him in his adversitr. 
The consequence was, no drmbt, that 
he repaired to the Black Lion that 
evening, and entertained his liveried 
friends with a very disrespectful, 
if not perverted account of the affair. 
I dare say his late master became 
the laughing-stock of the bar-par- 
lour ; that his wig and wizen face, 
his gout and gaiters, his peppery 
disposition and general peculiarities 
were discussed in a manner which 
was anything but pleasant. Sup- 
15o,se, instead of taking so summary 
a revenge, he had retired to his 
study, swallowed a gla.ssof Madeira, 
just to steady his nerves, rung the 
bell, and told Jenkins not to talk so 
loud down-staiis if he wished to 
keep his place. Can't you imagine 
how crestfallen the poor minion 
would have been? what an old 
trump the man he served must 
thenceforth bo considered in his 
ej cs ; and with how much zeal he 
might have continued his service ? 
But, ' who can be wise, amazed, 
temperate, and furious,' as the 
Thane of Cawdor once justly asked, 
' in a moment ?' No man. And 
upon my word, when one comes to 
think of it, the provocation was very 
great. 

Personally, I must admit I have 
no great affection for the London 
flunkey of fashionable life. It is the 
most im fortunate stage of a man- 
servants career. As a page he may 
be slim and interesting. As a butler 
he may become stout and benevolent. 
But a great, bread-shouldered, 
black-whiskered fellow of six feet, 
who thrusts his brawny calves into 
pink silk stockings, pla tors his hair 
with flour and pomatum, and covers 
himself with tags and gold lace, to 
hang on behind a carriage — bah! 
one fancies a man was made for 
some better business than this. It 
isn't his fault, no doubt, you will 
say. 1% is his betters who are to 



Upstairs and Down. 



lOS 



blame: they rig him up in this 
ridiculous costume ; they set him to 
do this senseless work ; they conduct 
their households on such a plan 
that it is difficult for him to help 
being what ne is — mean, idle, often 
insolent. There are, in short, some 
excuses for him. Aijd so, no doubt, 
a good deal might be said in favour 
of the wasp (black and yellow, by- 
the-way, is the orthodox colour for 
modern hvery waistcoats), but that 
would not lessen the annoyance of 
its sting. Your ornamental foot- 
man is an institution: but the 
institution is a bore, and it is not 
exactly easy to say why it has be- 
come so. Any of us who have 



conned over, or seen enacted the 
comedies which were written at the 
close of the last century, can testify 
to the pleasant, alfable character 
which the stage servant of that 
period assumed. His master joked 
with him, thrashed him, confided 
in him, called him ' knave ' and 
' rascal ' by turns ; and yet the poor 
fellow not only remained in his 
place, but stuck by the gallant cap- 
tain through thick and thin ; helped 
him in his little intrigues, l)am- 
foozled his creditors, rushed into all 
sorts of risks for his sake. Can this 
be said of any of our liveried re- 
tainers of the present day? Can we 
imagine Jeames or^Jhawles convey- 




ing a hiJlet-doiix, with the slightest 
interest as to its success ? standing 
meekly to receive our blows (clouded 
canes are gone out of fashion now) ? 
scheming to get a dun out of the 
house ; or even remaining a single 
day beneath the roof of a gentleman 
in urgent pecuniary difficulties ? I 
say that type of retainer is obsolete. 
You can no more find it now than 
you can find a living specimen of 
the dinornis or megatherium. What ! 
confide our tendr esses to a fellow who 
blacks one's boots ? — talk familiarly 
about debts and obligations to a 
man who stands behind your chair 
at dinner ? Impossible ! Whft the 
very next morning he would take 



you by the button-hole and call you 
'old cove.' The present state of 
society no longer admits of such 
relations. 

Women, I expect, do occasionally 
lapse into confidences of this kind. 
How otherwise could Miss Gad- 
about, with whose family I am 
tolerably intimate, have been in- 
formed of the fact that Lady Flaring 
has not paid her milliner's bill for 
the last three years ; or that Comet 
Spanker, of the Blues, had been twice 
refused by the wealthy widow, Mrs. 
McChequers? These little scraps 
of domestic intelligence are surely 
picked up on the second floor^ be- 
fore the toilet-table, between lacing 



106 



Upstairs and Down. 



and bandolining, late nocturnal soup 
and early morning Pekoe. Ah! 
ladies, ladies ! if you would only be 
a Utile more discreet with your wait- 
ing-maidsj,! If you would only re- 
member that that dapper little crea- 
ture who 'does' your back- hair, 
lugs out your ball-dress, selects your 
bracelets, ties your sasli, twitches 
that bewitcliing skirt into shape, 
hands you your gloves, and scents 
that little scraj) of cambric and lace 
which you carry with such a fas- 
cinating air -if you could only 
bring yourself to believe that your 
patient, useful, clever Abigail is — 
as great a gossip as yourself; that 
the harmless prattle with which you 
entertain her ana indulge yourself. 



will assuredly find its way down- 
stairs into the servants'-hall, and be 
carried next day to the dainty ears 
of a dozen of your female friends 
(or enemies, as the case may be) — 
would you — could you be <juite so 
frank in your revelations? Miss 
Papyllon is a flirt, I grant you, and 
the manner in which she comported 
herself the other night before Lord 
Eattlegate was very far from cor- 
rect. I am quite of your opinion, 
that, looking to Lady Screwby s posi- 
tion in the world, and the amount 
of her fortune, she ought not to wear 
cleaned gloves. But then, my dear 
girls, if every detail of your conduct 
last season — if all the sacred mys- 
teries of your toilet were openly 







2. a q<Ji 

5". ^cnifiemoic, cm^oni - 



discussed— which of the fairest of 
you would escape censure ? I say 
nothing of Major Slingsby's atten- 
tion to Miss Markham ; nor of Miss 
Turnwell's amber-coloured %\\kjtij)e, 
over which that stupid footman 
spilt a strawberry ice last season, 
and which at least .«o?«e of you recog- 
nised under a different hue this 
winter. I pass no comment on 
these things myself; I only beg of 
you to bear them in mind, and not 
to forget that what is sauce for the 
goose is jalso sauce for the gander- 
aJthough I am aware that those 



delicious birds are not of the same 
sex. 

It may be a morbid kind of curi- 
osity, if you will, but I confess I do 
feel somewhat curious to know what 
forms the staple article of conversa- 
tion round the kitchen - table ; 
whether there is any standard of 
etiqwette which regulates the social 
relations of this basement-story life ; 
how much deference, for example, 
Mrs. Cook expects from the scullery- 
maid; what sort of attentions the 
parlou^^maid may, with a due sense 
of propriety, receive from the but- 



Upstairs and Dotcn. 



107 



ler ; ■whether tlio valet patronises or 
only tolerates the page, and so forth. 
I fancy that servants in a well- 
conducted hpusehold are great 
sticklers for decorum and the fitness 
of things in general. Observe the 
nice distinctions which tliey draw 
with regard to their rtspt'ctive 
duties, settling among themjelvts, 
by an inevitable code of rules, who 
is to do what work. If by accident, 
or in case of emergency, the house- 
maid is asked to wash down the 
doorstep, cook to lend a hand at 
bed-making, or John to dut^t his 
master's library, ten to one you hear 
of grumbling, and a talk of this or 
that not being his or her 'dooty.' 
So we may depend on it the social 
grades of life downstairs are jea- 
lously preserved, t'lat the nursery- 
maid knows herself (as the phrase 
goes) better than to trespass on the 
prerogative of my lady's attemlant, 
and the 'buttons' wouldn't go for 
to interfere with JMr. John Thomas's 
perquisites, no not for notliink. 

Perquisites! Ah! then Ave come 
to a point on which I think there 
should be some better understanding 
between ' upstairs and down.' When 
I was a student at the Royal Aca- 
demy, with a moderate allowance 
from the parental purse, I vi^ed to 
spend my Easter week at a friend's 
house in the country, where an esta- 
blishment was kept on rather a large 
scale. My railway journey there 
and back, cab fares, and other little 
incidental expenses cost me on those 
occasions perhaps somewhat more 
than i was justified in spending on 
such an excursion. But on leaving 
the house a tax awaited me which 
I really could not afford to pay, and 
yet from which no young gentleman 
with any sense of dignity could 
escape. My friend had a solemn 
butler — but of livery of course — 
with a bald head and an air of such 
tremendous importance thrt one in- 
stinctively felt (at least I did) how 
delicate a task it was to offer him 
any gratuity at all, and how utterly 
impossible it would have been to 
offer him anj thing less than gold 
■vyithout positively insulting him. 
The same argument applied with 
equal reason to the housekeeper, a 



demure-looking personage, who had 
breakfast served in her own room, 
and whom the other seivants ad- 
dressed as ' mum.' Then there was 
my friend's valet, who condescended 
to bring mo my s'aving- water in 
the morning and laiil out my dress- 
coat before dinner. There was 
another gt-ntleman in livery who 
during that repast came ircquently 
to me with offers of a 'little sherry, 
sii", little 'ock, sir,' and so torth. 
Finally there were the groom who 
brought round our horses to the 
door, the gardener who had always 
some trifle to offin- in the shape ot 
fruit or vegetalsles as I was leaving 
(no doubt they Ihought, or pre- 
tended to think, tnat I had a house 
and cuisine of my own in town, 
whereas 1 lived in Blooui'-bnry lodg^- 
ings, and my usual dinner consisted 
of a couple of chops), an I the loilge- 
keeper, who touched his hat when- 
ever I entered or left the grounds. 
All these functionaries had, in turn, 
to be fee'd, and by the time their 
vails had been dul.v disj)ensed I wa,s 
generally minus the best half of my 
last 5/. note. Now it Fctms to me 
that this system of servant-tipping 
requires revision. It falls rather 
hard on our young fiieuds and poor 
relations— gue-ts whose purses are 
slender — whose wallets are not 
amply stored. It makes John 
Thomas (whose callin.ir, as I have 
shown, has from other causi s already 
degenerated) mean and calculating; 
it leads him to look aslv-ance at every 
visitor to his master's house, and 
calculate his welcome in £. s. d. 
There is M'Cbronier's housemaid, 
for instance, who used to smile and 
drop me the neatest little curtsies 
you ever saw whenever I called on 
her master. The angelic behaviour 
of that girl, the modest neatness of 
her white aprons, the tidy coquetry 
of her caps, the arch simplicity of 
her manner — she was only seven- 
teen—completely won my heart. I 
don't mind admitting it now, for 
she has been married for some jears 
to the grocer's young man, and they 
have since sot up in ttiat line for 
themselves. Well, in an evil mo- 
ment I— don't be frightened, ladies, 
I have the very strictest sense of 



108 



Upstairs and Dovm. 



propriety — I took to giving this 
youug woman small gratuities, for 
example, when she occasionally 
helped me on with my great-coat, 
half a crown ; when she called a cab 
for me, half a crown ; when she took 
darge of my Scotch teriier in the 
l-itchen one morning (Mrs. Mac 
couldn't bear dogs), two-and-six, 
and so forth. One day my host 
found me out in my well-meant in- 
discretion, and being of an eccentric 
turn of humour, rated me in his 



own ironical way. ' My dear fellow,' 
said he, ' don't let me see you do 
that again. I pay that girl ample 
wages ; if they are no,t high enough 
she can ask for more, and if she de- 
serves 'em she shall have 'em. But 
meanwhile I don't see why, as my 
guest, you should requite her for 
my hospitality, such as it is. If 
that half-crown is an acknowledg- 
ment for the dinner which you have 
just eaten, meis sumptibus, give it to 
me and not to my housemaid. If 



^#^ 




you think your entertainment here 
deserves some recognition at your 
hands, present me, at the close of 
every year, with a gold pencil-case, 
or what you will. Personally, I 
should hardly have considered that 
any such honorarium was necessary, 
but if it must be given, it is clearly 
I who should be the recipient.' 

The result of this tremendous 
chaflF (the drift of which I well un- 
derstood, for M'Chromer's own 



generosity knew no bounds) was 
that Miss Susan's half-crowns were 
cut oflF, at least as far as I was con- 
cerned. Except at Christmas — 
which, you know, only comes once 
a year, and, regarded purely from a 
financial point of view, once is quite 
enough, in my opinion— that be- 
witching creature did not add six- 
pence more to her wages out of my 
pockets. It may have been owio^ 
to her master's cruel interferdnp6 



Upstairs and Down. 



109 



with her perquisites in this and 
other instances that she united her- 
self at a month's warning with Mr. 
Spicely ; or it may have been that 
youth's ardent devotion which 
caused her to take so precipitate a 
step. On that point it is not neces- 
sary for me to record an opinion. 
All I know is that I had from that 
day forth no more smiles, no more 
curtsies, no more inquiries after the 
health of my Skye terrier. I called 
my own cabs, pulled on my own 
great-coat, shut the front door in 
Grower Street with my own hands, 
and have been very suspicious of 
ancillary blandishments ever since. 

There are two sides, however, to 
every question, and lest I sliould for 
an instant be supposed to defend 
stinginess to servants, let me here 
protest that I consider no kind of 
shabbiuess more mean, no frugality 
more ill advised, no providence 
more wasteful than that which in 
any household is enjoined alone 
downstairs. 'A fat kitchen and a 
lean parlour' was a homely proverb 
once in vogue, and certuinly if both 
cannot be well fed it must be a 
miserable sort of thriftiness which 
would begin by starving the base- 
ment story. Yet I have heard of 
respectable, well-bred housewives 
who ration their servants like union 
paupers, who cut down their daily 
food to a minimum, who consider a 
half-pint of small beer an amply- 
sufficient stimulant for an able- 
bodied, hard-working cook, and who 
regard the bare mention of meat 
suppers in the kitchen as flat heresy. 
There is something half- ludicrous, 
half-contemptible in this penny-wise 
economy. Upstairs and before her 
guests we have marlame doing the 
honours of her table — a table 
crowded with needless delicacies — 
soups, entremets, game, pates, des- 
sert, delicately-«a7)ie(Z wines (I say 
nothing of the quality), and what 
not. Could we foresee our hostess as 
she will probably appt' v next morn- 
ing, marshalling the fragments of 
this gorgeous banquet in her bleak 
larder, taking stock of half-consumed 
chicken and segments of raised pie, 
counting the forcemeat-balls which 
adorned that dish of jugged hare. 



noting with a scrupulous eye the 
mortal remains of a beloved turkey, 
which of us would enjoy his dinner ? 
Such relics may indeed worthily 
supply the family table for some 
days to come, but while all this 
feasting has been going on upstairs, 
how have the servants fared? 
'What! thd all of the shoulder of 
mutton which was ordered a week 
ago? Impossible! Those cnstardu 
eaten because they wouldn't keep 
another day ? Absurd! I am con- 
vinced that a tchdle leg of pheasant, 
and v<it a drumstick only, was sent 
down last night, and what presump- 
tion to eat game in the kitchen!' 
Ah, my dear Materfamilias, would 
you muzzle the as. that treadetli 
out the corn? Enough may not 
be always as good as a feast, but let 
us at least have enough in the ser- 
vants' hall before we attempt feast- 
ing in the dining-room. The reverse 
of this rule represents not only a 
moral wrong but a financial mistake. 
Hungry servants must eat, whether 
they confess to the weakness or not. 
A good slice off the joint will sati-^fy 
their appetites as well as a series of 
oyster-patties, but if they are de- 
barred from the first, can you be 
surprised at their making free with 
the other? Good servants, who 
wish (in downstair language) to 
'better themselves,' and who want a 
fair character for their next place, 
never remonstrate with these petty 
exactions. Besides, the icy reserve 
and conventional propriety which is 
kept up (perhaps necessarily in this 
country) between man and master, 
maid and mistress, make it impos- 
sible to do so openly. But if this 
traditional gag were just for a day 
removed from the lips of honest 
John Thomas and Betsey Jane, my 
goodness! what a shout of derision 
would rise from the areas of May- 
fair, with what loud bursts of vid- 
gar indignation Belgravian base- 
ments would ring! I remember a 
famous back number of 'Punch,' in 
which there appeared, I think from 
the vigorous pencil of Leech, a 
sketch of some middle-aged noble- 
man who, thrusting his head out of 
a natty little brougham in an April 
shower, ordered his coachman and 



no 



Upstairs aiid Down. 



footman to give him their hats in- 
side immediately, because they were 
new and would be spoiled by the 
raiu. People laughed at this cari- 
( ature, and accepting the spirit of 
ihe satire, no doubt put down the 
incident its'U'as a pure iuvention. 
h mav indeed have bteu i-o, but not 
li)Ug at'tcruanls I heard the follow- 
ing am cdote from a friend on whose 
accuracy I can rely, and I should 
not be surprised if the f^ketch and 
the story liad some common and 
substantial origin. 

The head of an illustrious house, 
whom I shall call Lord Skinflint, 
had given one of his cast-off hats to 
a certain lacqmy in his service. 
Eecognizing tins hat a few days 
afterwards on Wa hall-table, where 
it had been left for the moment, my 
lord inquired to whom it belonge ), 
and was at once reminded of his 
gift. 

' What !' cried his lordship, ' did 
I give you such a good hat as 
this ?' 

The man explained that he had 
had it relined aiid 'done up.' 

' Umph!' says my lord, 'I never 
thought of that. Pray, what did 
you pay for it ?' 

' Arf-a-crown, my lord,' answers 
Mr. Jeames. 

The nobleman mused for an in- 
stant, and loiiked at the hat again. 
' I'll tell you what,' said he, at length, 
' I'll give you five shillings for it as 
it is.' 

' If your lordship pleases,' an- 
swered the footman. (In fact there 
"was nothmg else for him to say.) 

The bargain was struck at ome. 
Lord Skinflint put on the hat, and, 
for aught I know, he may wear it 
still. 

Well, I won't moralize on this 
story, for despite my friend's pro- 
verbial accuracy, it is just possible 
tliat he may have been mis^inlormed ; 
that: the anecdote is what the Italians 
call hen trouuto, or, in plain English, 
ttiat there is not a single word of 
Iruth in it. Bat 1 confess that to 
ine it does not seem so highly im- 
probable, and, I will candidly add, 
similar gostip has led mc to believ© 
that there is not unfrequently in 
' high h!e' a great deal that might 



be contemplated with advantage by 
philosophers below stairs. Do the 
philosophers avail themselves of 
this teaching ? I fear not. Jeames 
and Cliawles, Susan and Betty imi- 
tate the foibles no less than the 
virtues of their betters. We all 
admit and de]ilore that spirit of 
flimkeydom which pervades certain 
phases of English Society, which 
sets half our dear fellow-countrymen 
truckling to a man who has a handle 
to his name, or, worse still, to another 
who is known to posstss a large for- 
tune. After this can you sneer at 
the mixture of sham deference and 
twopenny dignity of the servant who 
wears, for your sake, a cockade, tags, 
powdei", and heraldic buttons? I 
think it is a mistake to suppose that 
servants despise and groan under 
those insignia of office. My own 
oi^inion is, that if livery went out of 
fashion for footmen, l>utlers would 
at once petition to wear it. A due 
and palpable distinction between the 
two places must be kept up, or the 
kitchen would be in a state of 
anarchy. What! a dr<>l) coat or a 
stripe 1 vest the badge of slavery? 
The badge of fiddlesticks! A do- 
mestic servant is not moro rigidly 
tied to his duties than a soldier, or 
a government-office clerk, or a bar- 
rister, or a poor curate, who is 
often harder worked than a London 
footman, and not nearly so well 
remunerated. We don't call a red 
jacket, or a tie-wig, or a stuff gown 
the badge of slavery : why should 
an honest suit of livery be so stig- 
matized? Prate as they will about 
their free-born rights and i^rivileges, 
servants are the first to respect these 
relics of ancient feudalit^m. Not 
long ago a cook who was out of a 
situation asked a lady to assist her 
in getting one. Before long, a place 
was found, and a consultation held 
on the subject. 

'Pj-ay mum,' asked Mrs. .Cook, 
'does the family 'ave cresses f 

' Water-cresses for breakfast ? I'm 
sure I don't knuw,' answered her 
kind patron, ' but what can it 
signify ?' 

' t'xcuse me, mum,' interposed the 
applicant, ' I don't think I make 
myself understood. / mean cresses 



Upstairs and Dovm, 



111 



on their carriage, note-paper, liv'ry, 
and ceterer— ' 

' Oh ! armorial bearings, you 
meau?' said the lady. '1 really 
cannot tell you.' 

' Because 'm, I reely couldn't 
undertake a situation where there 
wasn't a cress kept. You see, ev'ry 
genteel faiu'ly 'as a cress; and ' 

' And jou positively make that 



a condition ? ' asked the lady, 
quietly. 

' Sutt'nly, mum,' says Mrs. Cook. 
'Footman kep; washing put out; 
beer, tea, and fam'ly cress.' 

' Then, 1 really think, Mrs. Cul- 
lender,' said the lady, smiling, ' that 
you had better look out for yourself. 
John, show this silly woman to the 
door.' 





he Market Assistant: Containing a brief Description of 
every Article of Human Food sold in the Public Markets of the 
cities of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn ; includ- 
ing the various Domestic and Wild Animals, Poultry, Game, Fish, 
Vegetables, Fruits, etc., etc., with many curious incidents and anec- 
dotes. By Thomas F. di<: Voe, author of the "Market Book," 
etc. With numerous explanatory ilhistrations. One vol. 8vo. 
Price $2.5C. 

" It is a practical nidrket assistant to the careful housewife or head of a family 
gaged in the consideration of the question, ' VVIiat shall we hav for dinner ? ' 
id is at tiie sat.ie time a magazine of curious and interesting iiistorical facts, 
lecdotes, and incidents attractive to the general reader." — Cleveland Herald. 

WO Thousand Miles on Horseback. Santa Fe and Back : 

a Summer Tour through Kansas, Nebraska. Colorado, and New 

Mexico, in the year 1866. By Colonel Jas. F. Mkline. One vol. 

crown 8vo. Price $2.00. 

" He is a good traveller, and, combining the disciplined mind of a student 
ith the training of an army officer, is well qualified to give an opinion upon 
hat he observes. His mode of travelling has furnished him with excellent 
)portunities for careful observation, and with great variety of adventure in the 
•airie." — Neiv Bidford Standard. 

" It is a liveh', descriptive history of the country passed through, imparting 
uch valuable information, and makes a capital companion to the ' Across the 
ontinent,' and other books of inter-continental travel of the past few years." — 
'oslOH CommouicHdlli. 

'our Years among the Spanish- Americans. By Hon. 

F. Hassaurkk. late U. S. Minister Resident to the Republic of 
Ecuador. One vol. crown 8vo. Price $2.00. 

" The subject is full of interest, and we commend the volume to our readers 
) one of the best of the year for information." — Hartford Press. 

talian Journeys. By William D. Howells, Author of " Ve- 
netian Life." One vol. crown 8vo. Price $2.00. 
" Seldom a writer makes so broad and fine a mark with his first pen-stroke 

i Mr. Howells, our late accomplished Cons\d at Venice, made with his ' Vene- 
-an Life.' The critics fcjimd so much to praise in this book that for once they 

irgot their avotiation, and paused to admire and enjoy, instead of hastening to 

jint out the defects and faults." — Liberal Christian. 
" Since the days of Montaigne and Lord Herbert of Cherbury (not to mcn- 

on James Howell again), no traveller in Italy has written more entertaining 

;counts of his journey than our countryman, Mr. Howells, whose ' Venetian 

ife ' we noticed some months ago." — Boston Commonwealth. 

'^enetian Life. By William D. Howells. One vol. crown 

8vo. Price $2.00. 

" It is really very delightful to get hold of a book that tells us so much of 
jculiar national life, habit, and character, in such a charming style. Generally 
avellers have so much of the gorgeous architecture that tiiey forget to tell us 
hat the people eat, drink, and wear, and how they live witlial." — Mihraid:ee 
Visconsin, 

?he Turk and the Greek ; or, Creeds, Races, Society, 
and Scenery in Turkey, Greece, and the Isles of 

Greece. By S. G. W. Benjamin. Onevol. 16mo. Price $1.75. 

" If*<tnybody wishes a small volume of facile, graceful, mobile prose, we com- 
lend him to these rather miscellaneous yet entertaining pages." — Neiv Ym-k 
ndi'pendent. 

"The style of this book is that of an easy narrative ; tlie sympathies are those 
f a right-minded American ; and the predictions are shared in common with 
itelligent observers everywhere." — Brool-lt/n Union. 

" The author's account of Greece is not flattering, but no doubt it is true." — 
ialtiniore Ej)i.'!iojiid Methodist. 



HURD AND HOUGHTON'S 



EDITIONS OF 



DICKENS'S WORKS. 



THE KIVEESIDE DIOKENS! 

Why it is the Best Library Edition. 

1. The Engli^h Illustrations by Cruik- 
shaiik, Phiz, Seymour, Leech, and others, 
are all newly engraved on steel, from early 
im|iressions, in exact fac-siniile of the orig- 
inals, and are not like other editions printed 
from old worn-out plates. 

2. It contains all the superb designs of 
F. O. 0. Darley and John Gilbeit, which, 
being copyright, cannot be used in the edi- 
tions of other publishers. 

3. It is printed on fine paper, with wide 
margins, allowing room for the largest en- 
gravings, which are not injured in trim- 
ming the volumes, as often occurs in other 
editions. 

4. The engravings are all on steel, and 
no wood cuts are used, as in other editions, 
thus giving uniformity together with more 
beautiful illustrations. 

The Publishers invite a comparison of the 
" Riverside Edition " of Dickens's Works 
with other editions. 

Price in cloth, cut ov imcut edges, $2.50; 
in half calf, !fiOO. . »■ . 

Tliiire (ire^iow issued: 

OLIVieil TWIST, 1 vol. 
MARTIN CHUZZLE"W«[T, 2 vols. 
OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 2 vols. 
NICHOLAS NICKLrE^Y, 2 vols. 
CHRISTMAS STORIES, 1 vol. 
BARNABY RUDGE, 2 vols. 
DOMBBY AND SON, 2 vols. 



THE GLOBE DICKENS! 

V/liy it is the Best Cheap Edition. 

1. It is handsomely printed upon fine 
white paper, from large, clear types, and 
is the most legible cheap edition in the 
market. 

2. It contains all the designs of F. O. C. 
Darley, the foremost American designer, 
and .John Gilbert, the foremost English de- 
signer, all engraved on steel in 'the best 
manner. These designs being copvright, 
cannot be used by other publishers. 

3. Each work is comprised in a single 
volume, and the whole of Dickens's Works 
in thirteen volumes, at $1 50 per vol- 
ume. The set complete, $19.50; half calf. 
$.39.00. 

" But none of the Dickens series are now 
selling so freely as Hurd & Houghton's 
' Globe.' Its generous type and clear print 
and low price combined' make it very pop- 
ular, and the printers cannot keep up with 
the demand." — Springfield Republican. 



THE HOUSEHOLD DICKENS! 

A Favorite Edition. 

In fifty-three volumes, 16nio, containing 
all the choice dSsigns of Darlej- and Gil- 
bert. Price, cloth, $1 25 per volume. The 
set. cloth, $66.25; half calf, $132.50. 



HURD AND HOUGHTON'S 
LIBRARY OF CHOICE FICTION. 

No. 1. Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas. With illustrations. 1 
volume 8vo, paper. Price, 50 cents. 

No. 2. Beautiful Miss Johnson, and other Stories. With illustrations. 1 
volume 8vo, paper. Price, 50 cents. 

No. 3. Sketches of Society and Travel By an Amateur Casual a»d others. 
With illustrations. 1 voltfme 8vo, paper. Price, 50 cents. » 

No. 4. Mary Egglestone's Lover, and other Tales. With illustrations. 1 

volume 8vo, paper. Price, 50 cents. (Nearly ready.) 

No. 5. Sketches of Club-Life, Hunting, and Sports. With illustrations. 1 
volume 8vo, paper.- Price, 50 cents. (Nearly ready.) 

HURD AND HOUGHTON, Publishers, 

4,'! 9 KROOMM STSEET, yF,W YOJtK. 

*»* These works are li>r sale bv all booksellers and news atjents. 



